


Alliances

by JahStorybook



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, NewsparkSam!, Newsparks, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Slash, Slash, dadchet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:28:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28189218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JahStorybook/pseuds/JahStorybook
Summary: Under the hot sun in Egypt, as Optimus battles it out with the Fallen and Megatron, an attack on Sam by Ravage leaves him changed in ways no one could ever have expected.
Relationships: Bumblebee/Sam Witwicky
Comments: 20
Kudos: 79





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place towards the end of Revenge of the fallen; disregarding lots of cannon during and after that movie, and I added a few characters who weren't actually in the movie or in Egypt with them. 
> 
> This was heavily inspired by Signature by arabis for their excellent portrayal of Dadchet! and Bee and has similar but- not necessarily the same- themes.

In the heat of battle, when he knew little more than  _ the heat of battle _ , Optimus always found himself thinking he could have been more than a warrior. Maybe in another life. The intent was there, the desire for knowledge and peace, for his old job on his home world. It was a life worth humoring maybe, if war ever stopped. 

Even if things were different, though, if he’d become a scientist or a builder or a medic like Ratchet, Optimus knew he would always choose this path. He’d been sparked for this. 

For leading and protecting, for fighting. The call he felt was not something he could ignore nor was the intensity of battle. If it came down to sitting on the sidelines and getting his armor dirty, he’d always choose fighting for what he believed in. 

Yes, he could have been made for more, but he wasn’t. In this, he was as certain as he was content. Lead, fight, protect.

These instincts took over completely upon his resurrection, when he expelled sand and dirt from his vents and peered down at a somehow changed Sam Witwicky, limping and barely holding his small human form up. His Autobots, his human friends, they were in such desperate need of help he didn’t think twice once Jetfire’s parts were attached. Distantly he was aware of the pain he felt losing the old soldier he didn’t even know, but he would grieve the loss on another day.

Defeating Megatron once again wasn’t as difficult as fighting the old Prime. There was a sadness to be had in killing his brethren, but he had no other choice and he knew this. Even if the only other Prime he’d ever come across, he was no better than the Decepticons who sought to control life.

At his hands, the Fallen was defeated for good. Disfigured and soon to be dismantled to avoid any unlikely resurrection. Megatron, yet again, escaped his fate. Optimus wanted to go after him, but by the time he’d even noticed, it was too late. They'd cross paths again, and he would be better prepared. Megatron was a powerful enemy, and not one he would let get away a third time.

The fight, as brutal as it was, had been over surprisingly quickly, and he couldn’t help but think he’d missed half of it. How long had he laid in the sand, unable to lift a finger to help any of them. His internal clock was reading a day had passed, but that couldn't be right? 

“Prime!” Optimus looked up, shrugging off the last of Jetfire’s parts as Ironhide and Ratchet approached. The sound of the heavy metallic armor and cannons hitting the rocks helped to jolt him into awareness. He turned to meet them, feeling more himself. Both were looking at him in pure disbelief, optics scanning him up and down.

“Alive,” he promised, glancing down at his servos. Alive, unscathed for the most part, a bit tired. He almost couldn’t believe it himself. Though his back strut was aching from his earlier impact with the ground, he  _ was _ alive. 

“How are the others,” he asked, optics snapping up to his friends. Where were the rest of them? 

“Alive, as well,” Ratchet assured him quickly. “For the most part. Elita…” Understanding, Optimus let his optics shutter shut, ex-venting slowly. Of course it was unrealistic to think they’d all come out unharmed, but Elita was…

Gone too soon, he decided, uncertain on how else to mourn her loss. Their relationship had been complicated in the past, but ever since her arrival on Earth, he considered her a growing friend.

“The humans? Sam?” More of the Autobots were gathering. Prowl and Sideswipe looking the most exhausted, while First Aid was cheerily trying to help Sideswipe fix a smashed up pede. Bumblebee wasn’t among them.

“They suffered considerably more casualties. Sam died, the fool.” At the way every single Autobot stiffened, Optimus especially, Ratchet added, “he was brought back at the hands of the human medics, thankfully. Right before he resurrected you with the matrix, in fact. We’ll have to recover that, by the way. It’s probably buried under a mountain of rubble by now.”

There _was_ plenty to do, but Optimus was still hung up on Sam dying. Sam,  _ their Sam _ , dead. The need to see him was intense, and Optimus could almost shake the lingering energy from the fight in his urge to seek his human friend out. Sam had saved his life by sparing it Mission City, and again just moments before. He wanted him protected from now on. He owed him, it was the least he could do.

“Where is Bumblebee?” The scout hadn’t been in his sights for any of the fight, but he was sure he’d seen him upon his resurrection. Among the humans, then? Or...

“With Sam. Blasted fool hasn’t wanted to leave his side since Megatron captured him,” Ratchet told him, eyeing Ironhide carefully as an awkward air followed his words. Optimus relaxed completely, put at ease knowing Bee was with him. The tension in the air, however, did not clear. 

“His mate rejected him shortly after your death,” Prowl stated, bringing some clarity to the vague response and shedding some light on the discomfort everyone was exhibiting. Shocking news, considering their closeness. Had it been his death they were avoiding talking about or the Sam's loss of mate? “Something to do with maps in his head. He’s been very upset.”

“Unfortunate,” Optimus conceded, knowing that there was likely more to it than that. Mikaela was a strong human, who had not once flinched at combat or difficulties in her relationship with Sam. It was not his place to go prying, though, and they had more pressing matters.

“The humans are already arranging transport for us,” Sideswipe interjected, watching the people in the distance. Likely listening through the radios. 

“We’ll return to NEST and celebrate alongside them,” Optimus stated, optics brightening at the surge of happiness his fellow Autobots felt at his words. When was the last time they’d really had cause for merry behavior? Even after Mission City, there was too much to do, no time for frivolity. 

“Think we’ll really get to kick back with the huma-” Whatever Prowl was going to ask was cut off in a surprised gasp, every single Autobot’s attention snapping to the sudden and unexpected pop-up of a signature on their radars. It was unmistakably Cybertronian, definitely a brand new spark flare, and in intense pain.

“Impossible,” Ratchet shouted, spinning around to locate the direction it was coming from.

“Newspark,” Ironhide mumbled in complete shock, before they all exploded into action.

* * *

Something about the dark this confused man found himself in as he rested was comforting in a way nothing else could be. There was no light to buzz annoyingly, no scorching brightness, no need to open the eyes he wasn’t sure he had and look around.

Existing in a narrow point of view with minimal thought and emotion was far easier than it sounded, but far harder to describe. Or at least,  _ he  _ thought so, whoever he was. It was like living completely in a safety net, made of the softest materials. Not that he could feel whatever the material was, as he didn’t really have a form, but it put him at ease whatever it was. It was like he was a swirling of thoughts, an unmoving stream of water that knew it was real but had a hard time figuring for what purpose.

He didn’t mind that he couldn’t feel the space around him, as not too long ago he couldn’t even think. Now, after gaining a few tricks like listening to the occasional nonsense beyond his existence and thinking things like  _ am I wearing clothes _ , he was pretty sure he could be content with what he had.

Listening to the  _ other  _ place was actually quite fun, even. It made the confusing existing easier, more understandable. They didn’t come around too often, though.

“His vitals are still too low.” Distantly, he knew that voice belonged to First Aid. An odd thing to know, considering he couldn’t figure out who  _ he  _ was himself. Maybe that's because they were constantly addressing each other, out there. No one addressed him, however, not really. It wasn’t until recently that he even realized they knew about him, or at least about the space he occupied. They were out there talking about  _ him _ .

“At this rate his spark is going to fade.” Said in anger, worry, fear, desperation. Sometimes they discussed what he might be experiencing, and he longed to tell them. Aid said things like that a lot, that he was going to perish, that he might be in terrible agony. He’d like to reach out and show him he was fine, that everything was okay in here.

All he could figure in regards to who he was, in these fleeting moments of simply being, was someone terribly broken. He was not supposed to be listening to the people around him, either. Or at least, no one seemed to think he could be listening, with the way they talked about him and  _ at  _ him, at times.

First Aid and Ratchet, the two most prominent voices in his head, spoke of him like he was dear to their hearts, but a mystery and an annoying one at that. Could he help that his vitals weren’t what they wanted? He didn’t even know what vitals were at the moment, only that they were wrong for him. A cause for concern, and something they brought up often.

“What’s normal for us might not be normal for him. For all we know, this is healthy.” Ratchet had more faith in him than Aid. Every time the junior medic spoke in that disappointed and worried voice, Ratchet was quick to remind him that they didn’t know everything, or that First Aid didn’t at least, and that things would improve with time. He wasn’t as sure, but Aid never refuted his claims, and he felt like maybe they were both right, in a sense.

The entertainment they offered, even making no sense, provided something for him to simply think over in his free time. He had nothing but free time, so it was a welcome thing. Even nonsense was better than completely having to create his own existential questions.

“The others are getting impatient, you know. Optimus has told them enough that they all want to see the new sparkling. Sideswipe has been pestering me about it.” Oh! That was something different. Sparkling. It was such a funny word! Is that what he was? A Sparkling? It sounded warm. Small. Fun. 

While he twisted it around and chanted it mindlessly, the conversation went on without him and then disappeared entirely. By the time it drifted close enough for him to hear again they were using even more new words.

“... And I don’t care if the life givers are getting mad, their extended presence is a nuisance and brings a high risk for catastrophe should he wake up while they’re here!” Life givers? Dad. Mom. Brief memories of the sun and water and grass under bare feet while a man chased him around a well trimmed yard, laughing and shouting for  _ Judy _ . 

As quick as the memory was there it was gone again, but he wasn’t too upset. It’d sent something painful through him, something bad, and he’d much rather be empty than have to feel bad. Empty is exactly how he felt, too. Like a husk. Something that had been hollowed out and made to hold a very important thing but remained unfilled still.

“Did you see that?” Something was happening, it seemed. Curiously, he listened. “His vitals shot up. Processor activated memory files for a fraction of a second. He’s- he remembered something. He’s in there still!  _ Primus _ ,  _ he’s in there still _ !” 

It was said in relief, but it brought no comfort to him. He wanted to scream very loudly every time they did this. Spoke about his  _ condition _ , about things that he didn’t understand, instead of talking about who he was and why they were out there and he was in here. Who was he? Why was he here, in the empty and numb chamber surrounded by voices he knew but didn’t know?

The answers, it seemed, were just out of reach. Like a word that had been on the tip of his tongue but disappeared right as he almost remembered it. As frustrating as it was, he couldn’t bring himself to feel too angry about it. In fact, he couldn’t bring himself to feel much of anything.

“Sam.” No. No, not that. “Sam, are you listening?” 

Stop. Sam. Sam was there, somewhere. He knew Sam, somehow. Who was Sam? 

Why did thinking about that bring such a wave of fear over him? Was Sam… was  _ he  _ Sam? That couldn’t be right, because Sam wasn’t supposed to be in here. Sam was supposed to be doing something far away, something important.

How did he know that, though?

“Aid, keep asking questions.”  _ Don’t ask anymore questions _ . Already it felt as though the cold in the room had been sucked into his body with a single breath, which he was beginning to feel. His body. He had a  _ body _ . Something was wrong with it, though. Different.

This wasn’t the first time he’d had a body, but it was the first time he’d felt wrong in it.

“Sam, are you in there still? Do you know where you are? Do you know what happened?” What happened… Where he was… There was no easy way to answer that, or any way to figure it out. He was here, where he’d always been. There were no walls, but he was in a room, and there was no floor but he was sitting. 

There was comfort, though. Like he was being gently held, or caressed maybe. 

“Sensor protocols active,” Ratchet exclaimed, loudly. All at once he tried to shrink back. Nothing had ever been that loud before. “Touch, hearing! Aid, stand back, he’s- he’s onlining, push everything back! Lock the doors! Take that- yes, over there, out of reach in case he’s overwhelmed!” 

Loud, loud, loud! Things were becoming too loud. 

There was a  _ pulling  _ sensation, all of a sudden. Something hooking sharply into his mind, an inescapable grip that began to pull. It had absolutely no give.

“Sam, ease into it! You can do it! Come on, buddy, nice and slow!” It wasn’t slow, though. He was spiraling fast and he had the impression when he stopped he was going to hit something hard. 

He was right, unfortunately. 

All at once, he wasn’t in a cold and dark room with no walls or floor. He was lying on his back, pain in every corner of his body, and he could move. It was like he’d just fallen hundreds of miles from one point to another without taking a single step. Sitting up, he cried out in near forgotten instinct, eyes flying open to see for the first time in his short life.    
“Sam!” Lights. Buzzing. A deep hum that made him whip his head around. There was movement around him, but he couldn’t see very clearly. Something was touching him, but he could barely feel it past the burning he felt all over. Distantly he knew he was rolling away from the contact, that he was falling and hitting the floor. "Hey! Sam, calm down!"

“Stop,” he cried out, jerking away from the touches and scrambling back until he collided heavily with something. It shook behind him, taking him somewhat by surprise. Was he strong enough to make a wall shake? Was that a shelf? 

“Sam, do you know where you are?” Shaking his head, he shielded his face as something bright passed over it. He felt an odd tingle all over. “What is the year?”

“I don’t know!” Anger. Fear. That’s what this was, right? Like a cornered animal, he was prepared to lash out. Why were they talking to him? They hadn’t asked him questions like this before. How had he gotten here?

“Sam, I need you to talk to me, alright? Are you in pain,” someone asked, stressing every word desperately. 

“That isn’t my name! Stay away from me!” Screaming now, he shut his eyes and curled tightly in on himself, feeling something pop deep inside him. A distinct hiss followed by fire spreading through him.

“Ratchet!” Pain. Pain. Pain. “Ratchet! What do we do!?” Before they could really  _ do  _ anything, he slammed back with enough force to jolt a feeling other than the burning pain into his back, and all at once it stopped.

Like a switch had been flipped, every feeling was gone, along with his body. The sheer quiet around him was like a blanket that he sank into with heavy relief. If there was someone to thank for the release from the pain, he hoped they knew the extent of his gratitude. 

“He’s alive,” said in such relief that he felt shocked. Someone else- who was that- was clearly just as okay with this as he was. “He didn’t know his name Ratchet…”

Whoever Ratchet was, they didn’t answer. Or maybe he just couldn’t hear the answer. The voices were intriguing, but a cause for confusion. Already he’d forgotten why they sounded so relieved and yet terrified. Should he be scared? 

He didn’t see any reason to be afraid. Everything was warm and safe, and he felt like he was sitting in a very safe net. 

That was enough for him.

* * *

The voices were frequent. He- Sam, his name was Sam they said- could almost always hear someone talking out there. 

“Sam, Bee came by to see you again today. He misses you a whole lot, you know? Poor guy has been stuck in the hangar on Optimus’ orders ever since we got back to NEST.” Bee did miss him, and had told him as much when it was him talking. Sam wasn’t sure why. He’d never spoken to Bee. Or at least, he didn’t think he had.

Yellow and fast, taking him far away from all of his troubles. Something beeping, songs, feelings he wasn’t sure how to process and things he couldn’t possibly say. Late nights in a garage, sleeping on black leather seats. Optics that looked at him with such care his heart beat faster. 

“... and Prowl went out on a little adventure. I swear the things they come up with. He got it in his head that he needed to scour every inch of the island yesterday. Said he had to make sure it was safe for a sparkling like you. He’s convinced you’re just going to shoot up and be running around soon.” Prowl had been by, Sam thinks. Or at least, he’d supposedly been by. The name came up often.

Prowl, Bee, and someone who always spoke in a deep, guilty voice. That one was the hardest to listen to. He'd tell Sam about his parents, and about his friends, about how everyone else was doing. It was difficult purely because the voice always seemed to know how he felt, how lost and confused he was. It'd been a while since that voice came by, though.

“He enjoyed himself out there, I think. Had some fun scaring the wildlife, that’s for sure.” Wildlife. Raccoons that get in the trash and deer he only ever saw out the window while driving by forests. The birds at his window while lazy sunbeams faded the same spot on his floor every day. 

Sam wanted to reach out, touch the light, but it was gone. He was in the dark again. Somehow, the dark didn’t feel as great.

“We keep waiting for you to online again, but I’m not sure what to expect if- when you do. After last time… The chance that you might not retain any memory of who you are is currently very high. You’re going to have to beat those odds, alright Sam? For Bee, at least.” Remember who he was… “Ratchet let your life givers come by, too, since they had to leave yesterday. Do it for them also. Your mother would-” 

“Aid, do you have the scans from before still?” Sam tried not to feel too upset that voice had been interrupted. While he still felt safe and content, he’d begun to feel lonely as well. Even as he sat here, wishing to ask all of the questions. Was Bee okay? Had Ratchet found the answer to the problem he was so desperate to solve? Is it safe out there, too? Was it cool against his mind, and warm against his thoughts?

Mostly, Sam just wondered why they couldn’t come to him. Lots of times different people asked him to wake up, to come back to them. Why didn’t they try and do the same? He couldn’t go out there, for some reason. It was a frightening and tiresome notion.

They’d be safe in here. Though, there were so many voices, and they all seemed so loud, he worried about how crowded it’d become if all of them were there at once. Still, it’d be better than them being so far away, right?

Or maybe the issue was they couldn’t get to him. He wasn’t sure where he was, exactly, unlike them, but he knew where they were. Whereas he felt if he just pushed hard enough he’d be there with them, maybe they didn’t know how to reach him, or worse, it wasn’t possible. Sam really hoped that wasn’t the case. He didn’t want to be alone in his own thoughts forever. Safe or not.

Oh! He didn’t want to be alone. He hadn’t considered that, yet, that he was alone. That was why he had to go to them! Here he wasn’t really living, not like they were. Adventures and fun, life to be had. Ironhide could show him the  _ wildlife _ . 

Sam wasn’t sure why now, why he was ready to step up now, but he didn’t want to be stuck in the safety net for a moment longer. Fearful, he made up his mind. Right now, he was leaving this place. He wanted to see First Aid. He wanted to see all of them.

“Ratchet,” Aid gasped, alarmed. Sam looked for his body among the darkness, for anything solid enough to grab onto. “Ratchet! His vitals are climbing!”

“What? Let me see." Maybe if he just moved? Surely there was an end somewhere. "Okay, rising a lot slower this time.  Get the lights! Remember, we can’t overwhelm him this time,” Ratchet snapped. Sam wanted to snort at that, at the bizarre worry they voiced. He wasn’t fragile, was he? He didn’t feel fragile.. 

Instead of following that distraction, he continued feeling along in the darkness of his mind until he came across a barrier he hadn’t realized was here before. Tall and foreboding, like something that’d topple over on him if he dare approach it. He was afraid.

“Memory files, processor, everything is coming back- it’s all coming back online again!” Maybe if he just… Sam pressed his hands against the wall, giving it a gentle push. It didn’t give in the slightest. Irritated, he tried again, feeling everything shake around him.

“Stand by to put him in stasis the second he exhibits any pain. Medical protocols pending, ready to override Link programming. We cannot let him offline again!” Pushing against the wall wasn’t going to work, apparently. Sam decided barreling into it like a battering ram just might. 

Right as he’d geared back, prepared to throw the entirety of his mental weight forward, the wall began to disappear in front of him. Sensation in his hands and legs, things he’d forgotten he had, returned. Anxious but  _ ready _ , he stopped and just let it happen, crossing the barrier more calmly this time.

The transition from one side to the other was little more than being empty, calm, ready, to being lost, scared, and feeling every single part of his body jerk forward in a hard shock. 

“Wait, Aid. Not yet.” It was like floating to the surface of ice cold water after months of being submerged. The first thing he did was take a deep breath- shocked and confused- and simply laid there,  _ feeling _ . 

For barely a brief second he was aware of so much noise, but it all silenced in a second as he flinched away from it. When he opened his eyes, blinking slowly, he found not the bright Egyptian sky like he’d been expecting, but a dimly lit ceiling. The ceiling quickly vanished behind big optics that completely filled his vision. 

“Sam?” This… was odd. Had he fallen asleep? Weren’t they in the middle of a kind of big fight? How much time had passed? Why did his arms feel so heavy? Where was Optimus?

“Ratchet? Are you okay, you look really weird?” A happy snort, and he turned his head to see First Aid’s relieved face. The senior medic was less amused, but there was a look in his optics, surprised and relieved as Aid was. Quietly, he whispered something to no one in particular, something in Cybertronian that made Aid laugh. 

“Can you tell me your name? Are you in pain?” Holding off on his own questions, he realized he must have been injured or something. So, he took a second to just breathe in and  _ focus _ . Nothing hurt, really, but his whole body felt off somehow

“Nothing hurts. And I know my name, yes. It’s Samuel Witwicky, obviously.” He took a better look around, rolling his head and squinting at the room. This was a medical ward of some sort judging by the blue and white walls and machine hanging over him. Some kind of infirmary but huge. This must be where Ratchet worked on the Autobots when they were injured. “What happened? Did I- did I get hurt? What happened to Optimus? Did we win?” Sharing a look, Ratchet and First Aid seemed to be talking in private with nothing more than quick glances.

“What’s the very last thing you remember, and we’ll go from there,” Ratchet said, seeming to glare at his subordinate. Squinting at him, Sam found he didn’t just look different, he somehow felt different. Warm, gentle, safe. 

“Okay um… I died, I came back, I brought Optimus back, Jetfire died, Optimus got totally decked out in ancient parts. I think… I remember you guys taking the fight further away, but we won right? Everyone's okay?” Judging by the studying gazes they were both giving him, he wasn’t wrong. Something obviously was, though. For the first time since waking up, he began to sit up. Two pairs of large hands shoved him back down. 

“Stay down,” Ratchet snapped about the same time Aid warned, “Easy there, don’t wanna move just yet.”

“Alright, alright! Geez, did I fall and crack my head open or something?” Mom’s gonna yell so much if that’s the case. Honestly it was downright shocking she wasn’t here doing that right now. Suppressing the very intense desire to see her, he tried to think more about what had happened. Where  _ were  _ his parents? Where was Bee, also?

“You really aren’t in any pain,” Ratchet asked, narrow optics looking him up and down. 

“Not really, but everything feels kind of weird. Like, numb weird, though, not bad weird.” In fact, he thought as he reached up to run his hand through his hair, he hadn’t been too pained by their hands when they shoved him down. How had they not crushed him? “Can someone please just tell me what happened? Am I concussed? Is that why you’re all fuzzy?”

Out of the corner of his eyes he noticed his hand was covered in something and jerked back before it could touch his head, getting a better look. 

Confusion. Shock. More confusion. Frozen, he stared for about five seconds before he found his voice.

“Guys.” He flexed his fingers, fear and wrongness filling his senses as they moved. 

“Sam, try to stay calm.” He made a fist, broke it, and made one again. 

“Ratchet," he gasped, or maybe choked out. Large servos wrapped around his unfamiliar hand, hiding it.

“We’re still figuring it out.” He lifted his other hand, inhaling sharply. How had he not noticed that he could feel the air coursing through him like that earlier? He wasn’t  _ breathing _ . Venting! Sam was pulling air through his whole body!

“Okay, okay, okay, this is not happening,” he said, laughing at himself. “I mean, those are robot hands. I have robot hands. Who’s hands are these?” Did he lose his hands? Something told him the metal stretched further than his arms, though he was too afraid to look just yet.

“You don’t remember anything after Optimus borrowed Jetfire’s parts?” Clearly not, if this is what happened after that! 

“Ratchet! I. Have. Metal.  _ Arms _ . Will someone just tell me what the hell is going on!” First Aid shoved something into his hands, then, and before Ratchet could take it back he glanced down at it, into it. His world came to a complete stop in that one moment.

Reflected in the small mirror weren’t his eyes, or his soft hair, or his eyebrows and face that he’d expected to be scorched from the sun and Decepticon's fire in Egypt. His lips, his nose, every part of his face was gone, changed. In its place... Optics- wide, green optics- stared back at him from a helm much like Bee’s in shape, although rather than the black and yellow it was black and blue tinged, face plates scrunching up as he sucked in a sharp breath. 

The mirror definitely broke when it hit the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things speed up around chapter four, promise! Also, I forgot to even mark this as a multiple chapters story! My bad

Sam was quickly discovering how panic was a drastically different thing for Autobots than humans, and how his current body was very shaky when put under emotional duress. He couldn’t cry, although if he were human still he definitely would be, and he was venting short small breaths that made his chest feel warm. Hysterics he could have, at least.  
The knowledge that he now lacked tear ducts, that all of his nights of crying himself to sleep when all he needed was a good cry, only made it so much worse.

Aid stepped aside and let Ratchet handle him during the breakdown, the senior medic giving him a cruel glare and saying something in Cybertronian that made even Sam’s feelings hurt. After a lot of very calming words, Ratchet may have a horrible bedside manner but today he was borderline gentle, shushing Sam every time he got too loud and reminding him that he was going to be okay, Sam finally settled down enough to face this rationally. Or, as rationally as someone could face finding they now looked a lot like an alien robot.

While he didn’t quite believe that everything would be okay, as the Autobot was telling him, he did believe that he was at least not hurting right now, he wasn’t in any pain, and that was good. Better than when he’d shoved the matrix into Optimus, he’d been in a world of pain then. While everything still felt overwhelming, he could focus on the bright side. It also felt like his thoughts were sorting through themselves much faster than they ever had as a human, so that might have helped a bit.

What finally broke him out of his head was Ratchet telling him he was safe, that inside, he was still Sam. His word was so final it was hard to argue against it, so now he just sat in the med bay staring between him and First Aid and venting long, slow breaths.

“How,” he finally choked out, not looking down at his body to keep himself from making every fear true. This was bad. This was worse than waking up married and tattooed in a Vegas hotel bad. This was worse than falling off a roof and being pinned beneath Megatron while a tiny robot wormed its way down his throat bad. Sam would take all of his past trauma over again in comparison to this.

“Our best guess? The Allspark. It had bonded with your biological DNA already, we think it may have set this in motion as well. After Ravage attacked you, that is.” Ravage. Right.

“Ravage attacked me?” The catlike thing was the stuff of nightmares, his nightmares. To think he’d at some point come face to face with it made his skin- plates?- crawl. He should have known something was off, he wasn’t even in a human med bay, the bed under him wasn’t even a mattress, it was a table. A hard-as-a-rock table. How had it felt so comfortable when he’d been laying down?

“Bumblebee dispatched her, but not before she’d done her damage. By the time the rest of us got to you, you were already unconscious and like this. Bee was convinced she’d somehow done it under Megatron’s orders.” Aid’s tone suggested he largely disagreed.

“Bee... Where is he,” Sam asked, hoping his friend and guardian hadn’t been hurt by Ravage before taking her out. He may be taller than her but she was slinky, fast.

“Perfectly fine. He was in here yesterday visiting you, in fact. And the day before that. And the day before that.” Dark optics narrowed at First Aid’s chuckle, causing the medic to shut up, eyes averted. Turning back to Sam, Ratchet muttered, “It’s less funny when you’re the one dealing with him.”

“He’s fine, though, really! They all are. Prime defeated the Fallen, sent Megatron and Starscream running like the fragging cowards they are. The only casualties were twenty four humans...” So Megatron was still alive. At his sudden discomfort, the two became a bit tense.

“We aren’t going to let Megatron take you like that ever again, though. We would always protect a Sparkling, especially one so dear. We will keep you safe.” Nodding in appreciation, the word almost went right over his head. Almost. Sitting up a little straighter, he looked up at First Aid in confusion.

“Sparkling?” Ratchet clanked Aid loudly, shoving him away before kneeling down patronisingly before Sam. He knew it was just so the Autobot could face him better, but it reminded him of how an adult would kneel to look at a small kid to have an overly serious conversation dumbed way down.

“Sparklings, Newsparks, we have a few words for them. You’re spark, Sam, is brand new, only two weeks old. A newborn, in all senses of the word.” Oh no. Hell no.

“I am not a newborn anything. I am an adult, not some baby- baby Autobot!” Smirking down at him, Ratchet had that look that suggested Sam was proving his point entirely by acting like this petulant child. Ignoring him completely, Sam wondered anxiously aloud, “so what, I’m just stuck like this? Am I going to turn into a car and go fight Decepticons now?”

Ratchet’s face fell, anger ever present in his optics. Growling at the mere thought, he spit out, “absolutely not. You’ll remain far away from combat. We are not playing around, you’re only a Newspark, our only Newspark, and that means we do everything in our power to keep you safe. Protecting you, keeping you away from harm, is our job.”

“Alright, alright! They could probably squash me like a bug still anyway. Actually, how tall am I now,” he asked, using Ratchet’s arm for support as he stood up. The contact was mostly accidental, and he was surprised when the medic purposefully let his servos hover near Sam’s side in case he needed further help.

All in all, he was quite a bit taller if the wave of fear looking down caused him was anything to go by. His first step was wobbly, uncertain, and his second wasn’t much better. It felt like there was something stuck to the bottom of his feet.

Ratchet still towered over him, much to his annoyance and relief.

“Your current height is seven feet and three inches.” Sam bulked, looking between the two medics disbelievingly. “Still less than half my own height. It makes you the shortest one here, actually,” he said in a smug way, as if one more Autobot being shorter than him was a point of pride. Sam was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he was a full 2 feet taller.

“Seven feet? Where am I supposed to sleep? How am I supposed to even get in my house?” Oh god, his parents were going to absolutely freak. Have they seen him yet? He wasn’t going to be allowed in the backyard. Or the front yard. If the neighborhood watch saw him hanging around they’d kick Dad out!

“You’ll sleep just fine in the hangar, don’t worry! As for your house… I’m sorry, but you can’t leave the base. You’re not human anymore, so... We’ve already made all sorts of arrangements for you here, though. You’ll not be lonely or bored, I promise!” Right. Because of the whole… new spark thing. First Aid’s attempt to cheer him up only made his heart, or something, ache. Ratchet sent a glare his way and Aid shuffled out of the room, looking thoroughly reprimanded.

“I can’t believe this. I was going to enroll in college next season. I was going to go out and live a very human life and get married.” All at once, he remembered Mikaela’s breakup after Optimus’ death and how she wanted a ‘normal’ life. Guess that ship’s really sailed now. Choking on absolutely nothing, he had to sit back down, overwhelmed despite only having thought of his ex girlfriend and family. Of all the things he’d imagined Cybertronians to feel more complexly and deeply, emotions hadn’t been it, but it was like everything was doubled.

He was never going to get back with Mikaela, something that was hard to accept seeing as how it'd only been a few days for him since she'd left him. He was never going to go to college, or marry anyone, or have kids. Sam shut his eyes- optics- tight and spoke in a tone that wavered pitifully.

“My parents… Do they know? Have they already seen me?” The sound of his venting was very loud in his own audio processors now, and at Ratchet's sad look he realized he was probably hyperventilating again. Wordlessly, he placed a hand on Sam’s back, running it in small circles as if to comfort him. When it worked, Sam realized maybe he was a bit of a child still at heart, as the motion reminded him of his parents taking care of him when he was little and had the flu.

“They were here for a while, but all civilians were forced to leave the base a few days ago while we put together relations with more countries and fortify against possible attacks. It’s nothing but military personnel and us on the whole island for now.” At Sam’s unspoken question, he added, “It was a shock for them, but I think they’ve come around. They care for you deeply, how you look doesn’t matter. Besides, you’ve been out for two weeks, plenty of time to adjust.”

Two weeks. So much could happen in two weeks. You can lose your whole way of life, your future, your clothes apparently, your entire balance in the world. All in just two weeks, while he laid in bed, not even noticing.

“Fuck,” he muttered, before laughing at his own erratic and unstable feelings. One minute he was feeling numb and shocked, the next in total awe. It quickly kept circling back around to disbelief and wishing everything would just stop and go back. This can’t be happening. None of this can actually be happening.

“Sam, I promise you no one- none of us feel any differently about you. Your life givers know you’re still their son.” A sense of calm settled over him after that, leaving him feeling a strange peace.

“Can we talk about something else? Please?” He didn’t even want to think about his parents right now, he found. Especially if they weren’t about to barge in demanding answers to questions he didn’t have answers for. The idea that he was something completely different from them was painful. It was a hole-in-his-chest-where-his-heart-probably-wasn’t kind of painful.

“Everyone still venting in here,” Aid asked, returning with a seemingly useless pile of junk that he dumped on the table. It looked suspiciously like one of Ironhide’s cannons, smashed to smithereens. Rather than humor his joke, Sam looked up at Ratchet curiously.

“What happened after Megatron ran off? How did we get out of Egypt?” It was a brighter topic than his own stolen humanity, and even if the Decepticon made his chest tighten in fear it was a welcome change in conversation from before. Aid settled down on the other side of the bed, scanning Sam once before leaning back.

“Well, we spent the first ten minutes celebrating. The hit we’ve dealt the Decepticons is likely to leave them scattered and scrambling for power, plus we saved an entire solar system. It was the best ten minutes of Ironhide’s life, I think,” Ratchet mused standing up and putting his servos on the table at his side. He grimaced at the scrap Aid had brought into the medical room, flicking some out of his way. “He does realize I’m not going to keep reattaching these, right?”

“You said only ten minutes? Why?” Sam would think they’d still be celebrating. The obvious look the two Autobots shot at him didn’t really make it as obvious as they seemed to think.

“Well, every Cybertronian still in Egypt got knocked on their afts by the cries of a Newspark, so that kind of drew our attention away from the victory. After the initial shock, we spent about an hour panicking trying to find the source of the new signature we were all reading, since none of us could pinpoint it directly.” He’d cried? As in actual crying? Or was that some figure of speech Aid was using to make fun of him. Like cried out in pain? He was choosing to believe they meant he’d simply been broadcasting his distress very loudly.

“I thought Bee was with me when it happened? Why didn’t he comm. you guys? Don’t you have a radio thingy?” There was a distant cross look in the medic’s face that made Sam think maybe he shouldn’t have asked that. It was gone quickly, though, and he ex-vented loudly. Did he not want to answer that?

“He was a little distracted. When we found you two, Bee was begging Primus to make you wake up. He thought you’d died during the transformation. Again. Ironhide and Sideswipe carried him off while we tended to you.” Concern for his friend spiked, and he had to remind himself that Bee was fine. They’d told him that. Bee was fine. Everyone was fine.

“But you said I was doing a signal thing.”

“Bee’s never met a Spark significantly younger than himself, nor does he have the same scanning technology as First Aid or me to utilize in medical care. I doubt he even realized it was you broadcasting in his grief.” There was something about his voice that made Sam suspicious, but he wasn’t sure why. He didn’t sound like he was lying, that wasn’t it. More like simply not telling him everything. There was also an anger to his tone that surprised him.

“That’s understandable, right? I mean if he couldn’t tell I was alive, it’s okay that he was a little spooked.” Aid and Ratchet seemed to think otherwise. Huffing, he tried stepping around them to see more of the room. Ratchet stopped him with a single servos, guiding him back to the bed.

“You shouldn’t move around too much, yet,” he said, not unkindly but with a unyielding voice. As always, arguing would probably land him nowhere.

“Why not,” he challenged anyway, backing down almost immediately at the medic’s glare. Regretful and slightly ashamed, he reminded himself that Ratchet was just looking out for him. As he’d probably been doing for the past two weeks straight. It wasn’t Ratchet’s fault all of this was happening, he should be nicer. “Sorry.”

“It’s not,” he started, shaking his helm and leaning back from Sam. “It’s fine. We’re still trying to ease you into this all at a slow pace. Anything could end up being too much.”

“Come on, I’m not glass. Am I? Don’t answer that, answer the other thing, how’d we leave Egypt?” Optics tiredly rolling towards the ceiling, Ratchet insisted with a gesture that he get back on the bed/table. A huff later and he complied, sitting down.

“I, along with you and First Aid, left on an aircraft. We beat everyone else here by several days. They were escorted by the U.S Navy on quite a sizable ship. It was a difficult journey for them, I heard. Your parents gave the captain a very hard time, and Bumblebee was in a hurry to reunite with you.” Picturing Judy and Ron Witwicky, picket fence suburban parents, starting a fight with a Navy officer, yet alone a captain, made his head spin. Then again, neither of them were fond of the ocean, so it wasn’t surprising things had gotten tense. That Bee had been worried was less surprisingly but hurt just as much.

“And you said all of you guys picked up my signature in Egypt? As in every single one of you? What about the Decepticons?” If they’d felt it surely Megatron and Starscream could have, provided they were close enough still.

“We’ve worried the same.” Shaking in his leg caught his attention and he looked down, experiencing a wave of unease at his unfamiliar body. It was the first time he’d looked, even for a quick glance. He reached down and tried to stop the apparent nervous trembling. Somehow Ratchet picked up on both his unease and the source of it.

“They were likely too far away, though. Bee and Jazz have been flooding the Link system with encrypted nonsense just in case.” It wasn’t a guarantee, but there was no mistaking the promise in his optics. Even if they’d heard it, even if Megatron was planning to storm the base and squash him this instance, Sam believed wholly in that moment that no Decepticon would ever hurt him.

“Wait… Jazz?” As in died in Mission City Jazz? Surely they’d misspoken, or maybe he’d misheard. Sam looked between the two of them, hopeful and uncertain.

“Shortly before departing Egypt we recovered the Matrix from the destroyed pyramid. It’s proved useful for many things,” Ratchet assured him. Jazz. Living, not torn in half and hanging lifelessly from Optimus’ arms. Sam couldn’t wait to see him. “We used it to revive Elita as well. She was deactivated in the battle.”

“Oh my god. That’s amazing. That’s amazing! It just works like that? For all of you?” No more threat of losing any of them, or at least, a second chance not to lose Jazz again. He wanted to get to know the second in command more, he’d seemed the most down to earth out of all of them when they first met.

“As far as we can tell. It’s worked for it three times now, but we aren’t taking any unnecessary risks just in case. It’s a power we refuse to take for granted.” A small smile tugged at First Aid’s mouth, unnerving him intensely but also raising his curiosity.

“What’s so funny? I swear if you’re going to make fun of me again-”

“Not funny, just… I think it’d be you making fun of us if you’d seen how we reacted to your newspark signature,” he deflected. Clearly that hadn’t been what he’d been amused about. “Prowl ran face first into Ironhide trying to get to you, and Ratchet! Oh, you should have seen it, Sam. I’ve never seen him so disorganized before, scanning anything that so much as twitched. That’s Newsparks for you, though. They have a way of making a level headed bot lose their head. Poor Optimus was picking up every vehicle in sight asking it to transform in the hopes that he could console it.”

The obnoxious snort that shot out of Sam had them both laughing. He completely forgot about Megatron and Starscream and dead Autobots brought back to life under mysterious circumstances as he let that image form in his head. Optimus, cradling a completely normal car in his arms and making shushing noises. He laughed again.

“Aid, if you’re lying to me right now I will never forgive you, I swear.” Sobering slightly, the medic solemnly hung his head. Sam’s heart- or, spark was it?- hurt and he was tempted to say he was kidding but then Aid lifted his head and the look was wiped clean off his face, as if it’d never been there. Confused, he wondered if he’d imagined it.

“What was so important about the signature anyway?” At Ratchets sharp in-vent he quickly added, “yeah, besides the fact that Sparkling signature equals Sparkling somewhere near, and Sparklings are important in the way babies are kind of important I guess.”

“They aren’t just- do you know how many Newsparks exist today?” At Sam’s small head shake he tilted his head, studying him. “One. You. Of course, even before when there were more, each Newspark was precious. Even the Decepticons would acknowledge the significance of one I’d wager.”

“Not that they’ll ever be getting near you,” Aid added, and Ratchet seemed inclined to agree.

“No. They won’t.” Smiling up at them warmly, Sam found he was growing increasingly tired, and fast. Wherever this calming effect was coming from, it was working too well.

“Okay, but even if I’m the only current Newspark, that doesn’t really answer my question. Why were the Newsparks so precious? Why did mine make you all so crazy?” The questions were probably getting tiresome for the two medics, but they both seemed content enough to humor him. Two adults answering a curious kid’s questions, he thought with a frown. He wasn’t a kid. He was a man.

“Part of it was the nature of your Newspark signature reaching out,” Aid told him, optics shining brightly as he stared at the wall. “Primarily it's to do with our own way of life, though. Not only are we all hard programmed to experience protectiveness at Newspark signatures, especially distress flares like the one you sent out, but Newsparks are considered the ultimate gift to Creators. Normally only the most worthy of us were granted the responsibility of caring and protecting Newsparks, so you can imagine how valued they are.”

“Our reactions were merely an instinctive response as Creators to hearing a critically injured youngling calling for help, perhaps like the response parents might get when they hear a human newborn crying,” Ratchet explained, clearly grumpy about that part. Sam would definitely be blushing if he had skin. He was sort of glad he hadn’t seen every single Autobot going mother hen on him. Although, what he wouldn't give to have seen Optimus trying to console an inanimate car. As amusing as it was, distantly a thought was forming that irked him to no end.

“How did you… how did you know it was me, when you found me? How did you know the spark signature thing was mine?”

“Well, Bee was able to tell us that it was you when we stumbled across you two, and you were the only one who it could have been. Although, we did try scanning your spark just to be sure.” Reaching up to his chassis, Sam wondered briefly what it looked like. He’d only ever seen Optimus’ and Megatron’s, two drastically different looking sparks. “See, we call them Newsparks because outwardly we do not grow the same way your organic life does, necessarily. Our sparks do, though. They mature inside of us, but a Newspark’s is... smaller, immature. They’re very easy to tell apart from a normal spark. Weaker, dimmer. We’ve not seen yours yet, but the energy it’s giving off is unmistakable.”

Somehow that only made him more curious. Mentally he felt like his old self, which was most definitely an adult. How long before his spark matched that?

“In Earth time? A while,” came Ratchet’s freezing answer. Sam had been almost certain he wasn’t speaking that, but he was so tired maybe he had.

“Like, eighteen years awhile or one hundred years awhile?” They were quiet. “Longer?” He gasped.

“We’re not sure, yet. For now, you’re progressing at the same rate as any Newspark would, or so we can tell,” Aid said. The new medic was staring at his hand on his chassis, optics completely unflinching.

“Right,” he muttered, dropping the hand and ignoring the sudden feeling of hopelessness crawling up his throat. That could mean anything. They lived long lives, insanely long lives. Sam had been looking at another 50 or 60 years, max, but now…

“I’m surprised you’re taking this so well. You really scared us the first time you onlined.” At Sam’s confusion, Aid supplied, “when you woke up the first time. You seemed to be in so much pain and didn’t remember who you were.”

“I don’t remember that. When did that happen?” Ratchet looked at him more sharply, disregarding the scrap on the table and his own scans of them.

“You don’t remember?”

“The last thing I remember before waking up here was being in Egypt,” he reminded them, trying to wrap his head around the fact that he’d been awake and couldn’t remember anything he’d done or said. His fear spiked again, and his optics shut involuntarily as a wave of pure exhaustion almost floored him, overpowering the fear.

“Woah, careful there,” First Aid cautioned, reaching out for him. This time, though, he realized the source of the exhaustion.

“Will you stop that!” Aid backed off, letting his senior medic take over. “I’ll sleep when I’m ready and calm down when I feel like being calm!”

“That feeling you have is your body telling you you’ve reached your limit, and you should listen to it. All I’ve done is sit here and talk.” Annoyed, Sam waved his prodding servos away.

“I’m talking about the stupid emotions thing. Every time I start to feel anxious it just disappears, or I get super tired, and I know it’s one of you doing it,” he accused, laying down against his will with a huff. Aid and Ratchet were silent. Sam peaked at them, concerned and curious but unwilling to let on that he wanted to ask what they were clearly hiding.

“I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized I was doing that,” Ratchet conceded, voice tight and definitely not at all suspicious. Too tired to argue all of a sudden, Sam rolled over and shut his optics, feeling not only overworked but kind of lonely, which was ridiculous because neither of the two Autobots behind him were even pretending not to be staring at him.  
He wished Bee were here. The two of them could geek out over Sam’s new height and he could set the little worry in the back of his head aside.

Plus, Bee had saved him from Ravage, more or less, he wanted to thank him. He wanted to feel him, under his hands, and see for himself that he was still alive. Had he been this attached before?

“When can I see everyone?” Also, when was he allowed to leave, more importantly. Sam wanted to explore, to go see Optimus and say sorry for getting him killed. He wanted to get used to this new body, if you could call it that, and he wanted very much to stop feeling like his entire world was still crashing into a burning sun.

“At this point I can allow visitors, but not until you’ve rested. These next few days you’re gonna find it difficult to stay awake; already you’re pushing limits I’m not comfortable with.” The heavy weight in his head agreed with that last part, tremendously.

“Can Bee come?” Silence. Rolling over, Sam stared at them while they shared a private communication line. Panicking, he started trying to sit up. “He’s not hurt is he? You said everyone was fine!”

“Everyone is fine! Stay down, Bee can visit tomorrow with everyone else. We were just discussing who should see you first.” Bee, he thought instantly, embarrassed at himself. He wanted Bee, though, and right now in his overly emotional state he didn’t care about saying so.

“It’s a matter of who’s most likely to behave themselves in the Medbay,” Aid assured him. “We don’t want to overwhelm you with too many of them.”

“Fine, but I want to see Bee. And Optimus. I still need to tell him I’m- I’m sorry.” Softness surrounded him in an instant, seeping into his core like a warm blanket. Despite fighting to keep them open, his optics shuttered a few times and closed.

“Okay, Sam. Just go to sleep now.” Relaxing back into the table, Ratchet’s words echoed around his head quietly.

Go to sleep. Funnily enough, he did.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh I get so anxious when its time to publish! I worry I write too fast! ^.^

“ _His vitals have all fallen into a mostly acceptable range, but he isn’t strong enough to be up and walking just yet. Honestly, the fact that he’s even online is nothing short of a miracle and you know it.” Sam was talking to Optimus. Yelling at Optimus, actually._

_“And it is a miracle we are all grateful for, yes. I’m not questioning your expertise, Ratchet.” It certainly felt like he was._

_“Then you’ll understand why I can’t let half the base storm my medbay tomorrow. We don’t know how much he can handle or how precariously his mental state might be, now isn’t the time for testing his social limits.” A line to the medbay opened automatically through his programming, distracting him from Optimus._

_/Audio Update from: Designation, First Aid. Regarding patient Witwicky, Sam {You’re an overprotective aft for making me do this}_

_“All scans normal, his vitals are rising remarkably well. I’m heading to recharge myself now, but I’ve set an alarm in case his condition starts to decline. I’m confident in his recovery, however. All damage caused by Ravage is gone, thank Primus, and I can’t find any flaws in his programming. The energy levels from the Allspark are still blocking my scans of his spark, so we’re not going to get any visuals on it until he shows us._

_“Anyway, I just wanted to say I’m done for the night. The medical blocks are holding up for now. He’s fine, Ratch, we don’t have to be there every second of the day and night anymore. Get some rest.”_

_{End of Audio Update}_

_“It seems like he’s doing much better,” Optimus said, optics regarding him warmly. Since Aid wasn’t in the Medbay anymore he immediately felt the urge to return to it, to keep an eye out on his charge._ _  
_ _“Just because he’s better doesn’t mean we’re in the clear yet. I’ve blocked any and all activity in his link protocols, but you know what could happen if_ someone _tries to access them.” An indignant beep came from his left, and he glared sideways at the lost looking yellow Autobot. “I don’t want a repeat of his first onlining. If Sam is put under that kind of mental and physical strain he might slip offline and deactivate completely. Is that something you want to risk?”_

_“I wouldn’t risk him for anything,” Bee said, affronted. Optimus stepped between them, cutting off his line of sight._

_“No one is going to attempt opening a channel with him and you know that. You’ve told us the possibilities, I assure you we will all adhere to the rules of your medical domain.” Even though he was speaking diplomatically, Optimus had a hint of amusement in his tone. Sam didn’t think it was very funny. “Now. You wanted to speak to me on a private matter, I believe.”_

_“Yes. Follow me.” They left the hangar where Bee had mostly been confined to for the past two weeks, Sam not sparing him a glance as the doors slid shut._

_“You know Bee would never harm Sam. Don’t you think you’re being too hard on him?” Sam very much did not think he was being too hard on anyone. If people listened to his expertise more often, maybe he wouldn’t have to be so cautious. As it was, his current software was making everything out to be a possible threat to the Newspark sitting in his medical bay, and that included Bee._

_“Because of his hesitation, we could have lost Sam forever. He should have called to us the moment Sam began to change, but wasted a whole hour!” Even if Bumblee meant well, even if he’d never purposefully hurt his friend, he might on accident if he let his emotions control him like that again._

_“Very well, but you realize Sam has likely already forgiven him,” Optimus stopped as they neared the medbay, uncertain. Unlike Bee, he hadn’t been here much. Seeing his ward in such a terrible state made his spark ache, Sam knew._

_“Sam would forgive a Decepticon for stepping on him if given the chance, it doesn’t mean he’s right to,” he snapped, opening the door and stepping inside. The Newspark signature flared up at his entrance, unknowingly reaching for him. Instinctively he soothed it through the temporary medical bond they shared._

_“They’re friends. Perhaps you’re just upset that he’s going to be very close with Bee after all this.” Too close. It was another cause for concern. If Bee was going to insist on remaining a guardian, which he already had, that meant no one could stop them from seeing each other or stirring up trouble together.._

_Sam looked down at the Newspark, felt a wave of protectiveness as confused warmth longed for him to come closer. He’d done that several times when he was awake without even realizing._

_“He wants to see you tomorrow,” he warned, watching Optimus’ optics shutter closed. “From what I could gather he’s felt ashamed of himself since your death and wants to apologize. I didn’t read too much, for fear he’d realize I could hear him, but he thinks him rejecting your request and getting caught by Megatron directly led to your death.”_

_“It wasn’t his fault, but I will be here.” Ex-venting tiredly, Sam scanned his charge and noted his processor was more active than it should be. Reaching down, he carefully touched the small bluish helm, sending a small shock wave to calm it._

_Instantly, the activity began to die down. Dreaming, maybe._

_“What did you wish to discuss,” Optimus asked, voice fading out from Sam’s hearing._

_“Creator protocols. We need to consider who’s going to guard Sam’s programming to keep him locked out of the Link,” he was saying, but the rest was lost as Sam pulled away from the conversation._

Voices woke him up from a light sleep. Blinking, he rolled over with a tired groan, silencing whoever was talking instantly.

“Hello?” Blinking slowly into the unlit room, he realized he could still see even in the dark. Weird, considering he’d never been able to see in the dark before. A small corner of his brain reminded him his eyes weren’t normal anymore and he almost slipped back asleep to forget that fact. 

There were two figures standing some distance away, watching him with bright optics.They effectively drew his attention. “Hey?”

“Go back to sleep, Sam. It’s still dark out.” Grumbling at the soothing voice he turned back over and buried his head in his arms. Even though laying on his stomach didn’t bring the same measure of comfort it should, it still felt safer. He fell asleep with the same ease as before, like being nudged into the shallows of the ocean by a massive hand, and this time he did not dream.

* * *

Ratchet was there again when he next woke up, leaning over Sam’s leg and scanning it. 

“What are you doing?” Unflinching, the medic finished the scan and pulled his arm back, staring at the wall as he processed whatever information he’d gathered. 

“Insuring the injuries you sustained from Ravage are gone.” Right. Ravage. 

“Well, what’s the prognosis, Doc?” His cheery mood caught him by surprise, surely, but he merely glanced up at him, nodding to himself. 

“You healed quicker than I’d think possible, even with two medics working on you around the clock.” A small part of him felt guilty about that. When did they find the time to rest? 

“Are the others coming by soon, then?” He wasn’t sure exactly what time it was but they’d told him he could see Bee and by god he was going to see him. 

“Most of the others are in recharge, but a few have woken up already.” They were gonna be pissed they couldn’t see him all because they overslept, Sam knew. 

“Bee?”

“Optimus is coming by first. Can you move this joint and describe how you feel currently?” Honestly? Still kind of tired. There was an itchiness in his whole body, too, but it was fading the longer he sat up and moved.

“I feel okay. Tired, still. Is that normal?” Not even tired in the way that he’d feel after just waking up. Just drained.

“Like I told you yesterday, you’re going to find it very hard to stay awake for the next few days. All of your energy has gone into repairing the damage you sustained and keeping you online. If not for the Allspark...” The way he said it made it sound like this wasn’t normal, but it was acceptable. Sam figured if something was truly wrong still he’d probably look more worried. “Are you in any sort of pain? Do you still remember what happened?”

“If I didn’t remember what happened how would I know,” he pointed out a bit cheekily, receiving a tired glare from the medic. “I’m not in pain, and yes I remember everything, I think.”

“Good. Consume this.” A can-like container was placed carefully in his hand. He blinked at it.

“What is it,” he asked, all at once realizing he probably would never eat human food again. No digestive system, right? Just tanks, or so Bee had told him once before.

“It’s energon in a liquid form. We’ve been having to tube it through you while you slept, but now that you’re up you’ll need to work on getting accustomed to it. It may feel odd, at first.” Twisting the metal lid off the can he peered into it warily, all too aware that Ratchet was watching him very closely. Energon looked a little bit too much like sludge for his comfort. Still, he knew he wasn’t going to get away with turning it down.

Lifting it shakily to his lips, he shut his eyes in case it tasted as bad as it looked. It didn’t have a taste at all. Instead, the feeling of something burning his face plate made him lower it as he vented in sharply. 

“Burns,” he gasped, looking up at the medic worryingly. Ratchet took the can from him carefully, setting it down on the table in exasperation. He tugged Sam forward to help him vent more easily, muttering some rather unkind words.   
The pain passed and he sat up in only slight discomfort, rubbing his face. Ratchet handed the can back to him, expectantly. “Please no.”

“You’re not going to see Bee until you’ve consumed all of it. I promise, it will be better this time.” Bee! Ratchet sounded genuine enough, so with even shakier hands Sam took the can and threw his head back. Maybe if he drank it faster and got it over with…

Ratchet, as it turns out, was an excellent liar. It felt just as bad, if not worse, and if he had a throat instead of a tube he’d probably be choking. Worth it, he tried to tell himself. If it meant he could see his friend, worth it. 

“Why do you guys eat this stuff if it burns you,” he asked incredulously, holding his throat. 

“It doesn’t burn us. That pain you feel is simply your processor trying to make sense of a whole new protocol, fueling. It’ll feel strange the first few times but after you get used to using your new systems it should pass.” That wasn’t exactly reassuring. Neither was the ominous clanking coming from outside the medbay. Ratchet paused, looked up Sam’s arm that he’d been scrutinizing, and sighed.

“Early, of course.” The doors slid open and a large mech with familiar paint stepped in. Sam gasped, leaning his head back to look up at him as he ducked down. Optimus.

Not just Optimus, but Jazz! The two Autobots looked perfectly healthy and happy to see him. 

Seeing them, however, Sam felt a horrible swell of emotion inside him that effectively blocked his voice box, rendering him silent and upset. What could he possibly say? That he was sorry? That he was glad Optimus was back and not dead or defeated by the Fallen? That it was so good to see Jazz not ripped in two and deactivated?

“Sam, ex-vent.” Oh! Pushing the air back out, Sam took a few seconds to get his breathing back on track. This all would have been a lot easier if he’d better convinced himself that Optimus had actually revived and that wasn’t just a dream. He’d only gotten to speak a few words, all shouted in the heat of battle, with the Autobot leader back in Egypt.

Here he was, though, looking down at Sam with very bright optics and concern so deep it made everything he had planned to say fly out the metaphorical window.

“Hey! You’re lookin’ much better, Tiny,” Jazz said, breaking him out of his own heavy thoughts. “Have you grown since the last time I saw you?”

It was a joke, and a lousy one at that, but it was so _Jazz_ that it made Sam huff out a relieved laugh. They weren’t changed in any way he could see or hear. It was just Optimus and Jazz, living and venting and looking at him like he was going to break any second. 

“I’m sorry,” he spit out, not sure what else he could say. At Optimus’ small ex-vent he was shocked to find he wasn’t the only one who’d been holding his breath, waiting. Before he could answer, though, all of Sam’s thoughts started pouring out. “I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have left home, I should have listened when you asked me to. It’s all my _fault_ , I’m sorry!”

“It wasn’t your fault, Sam. If you’d made yourself known during the fight they’d have simply killed us both. From what I gather, it was your idea to use the matrix to give me back my life and a chance to seek justice.” As flattering as that was, it did nothing to erase the blame he still felt. 

“But he got away again. What if-”

“Sam, control your stress levels or I’ll have to kick them out,” Ratchet warned, not even looking up from the long piece of scrap he was examining to scan him and relay the message. It worked to calm him down, at least. He didn’t want them to leave just yet.

“Megatron will never hurt you or us again. Next time he attacks, we will be more ready than ever. NEST has grown considerably, and I think you’ll find you’re a lot more guarded now than you were during your kidnapping.” Everyone kept mentioning how better protected it was out there, and it made him as anxious as it did reassured. What was the cause for added protection?

“Not to mention you have your own little protector. Trust me, no D-con is getting past Bumblebee,” Jazz assured him, bending over to look him up and down. “You’re too small for a car. Motorcycle?”

“Too small for those, too. His current mass is less than almost every powered vehicle.” Sam didn’t miss the _almost_ , but he wished he had. He didn’t care about transforming, he just wanted to get up and leave this room soon. Or at least see Bee. Actually.

“When is Bee coming by,” he asked, eyeing Ratchet almost accusingly. He kept saying Bee could visit, but hadn’t actually told him when exactly he’d come.

“Jazz, you should go make sure everything is alright in the hangar. I have a feeling the twins are up to something right now.” The second in command nodded, flicking Sam’s arm before he left. 

“See you soon, Tiny. Don’t let this old grouch tear you down.” He was gone before Ratchet could injure him bodily, but Sam knew the medic wanted to. 

“See you later! Tell the others I said hi for me,” he called, smiling to himself at the pleasant experience. You’d think meeting someone you watched get torn in two would be more awkward. Luckily, Jazz had a way of brightening a room. 

“I assume you want to throw information at the boy that he likely won’t understand,” Ratchet guessed, coming back around Sam’s side to stare up at Optimus threateningly. It had no effect on the prime, of course.

“What information?” 

“If I hadn’t, you realize that you saying that puts us both in a difficult position,” Optimus pointed out, kind optics giving nothing away. 

“Fine, but no one is saying we have to do this today. Not when he might have been swayed by a number of factors.” Concerned now, Sam realized this wasn’t just any information, it was information regarding _him_. The worst kind, in his experience. 

“You two feel like sharing with the class?” His snappish tone did little to pull them from the obvious battle they were having silently. “Hey!”

“We’re just in disagreement on how we should handle an issue with your processor,” Ratchet said at last, giving in.

“My proc- you mean like my brain, what about my brain,” he asked, alarmed. It brought up unkind memories of Scalpel that he stomped down with a very insistent mental boot. 

“It’s not an issue so much as a temporary concern. Most Newsparks don’t go this long without proper activation of their processor. The section that controls Link protocols is currently being repeatedly shut down by Ratchet to avoid you completely offlining again.” An odd mixture of gratitude and fear settled in him deeply. 

“So there's whole parts of my brain I’m just not using?” That made his helm itchy to think about. “Why does that matter, do I have to use it?”

“Not yet. It’s going to take lots of practice and controlled trial runs before we even consider it.” Okay, so that's one thing he could set aside then. A problem for a later day.

“I realize you don’t know much about Creators yet, but we’ve discussed it and decided you need to choose one for yourself.” Confused, Sam looked to Ratchet for clearer answers. 

“Even though I’ve been keeping some of your protocols from activating with my medical software, that’s just a temporary solution. If you had a Creator, they could completely safeguard your programming with much more ease. It’d be less risky for you and more effective.” Maybe not a problem for a later day, then…

“What do you mean ‘choose a Creator’ exactly?” Two sets of optics regarded him carefully. They were considering how much he needed to know again. Angry at the blatant disregard, he snapped, “will you just tell me?”

“Creators do not pick themselves. When we get a Newspark, it often is a shocking and out of the blue experience, with little warning. Newsparks seek out whoever they feel safest with.” There was a knowing smile on his face, as if he already had someone in mind. 

“So I just pick whoever I feel safest with? When?” Ratchet moved him away from the door a second before First Aid came in, oozing excitement. 

“Soon,” the medic told him quietly. “Aid, didn’t I tell you to bring Ironhide by to fix his cannons?” 

“Already done,” he answered cheerily. “I’ve reattached them myself and they are good as new.”

“Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it,” he replied dryly. 

“Hey! This has all been very enlightening but can I see Bee now,” he asked, fidgeting under three sets of stares. Optimus gave Ratchet a knowing look while the medic’s optics twitched. Irritation flashed through Sam before vanishing into resignation. He wasn’t quite sure where it came from.

“First things first, I’d like to take a look at something! If you don’t mind.” Aid came around his side, tilting him back until he fell into the table with a bang, stilling completely. 

“Careful, you might knock something loose,” Ratchet snapped, joining him in looking down at Sam. Optimus was at his other side, and suddenly he felt suffocated under the three of them, even though Optimus was kneeling down to seem less massive and they weren’t touching him. They were just… watching.

“What- umm- what do you want to look at,” he asked, already fearing the answer. Something about this made him feel too exposed, despite the fact that he was just laying on his back. Maybe it was because the last time he’d been shoved onto a table under a bot it had been a less than comfortable experience. 

“Your spark,” Aid replied cheerily. “Hold still!” Caught off guard, Sam didn’t realize something was tickling his thoughts until his chassis began to move, forced open by commands that weren’t his, and all at once he was in-venting sharply, shoving him away.

“Stop, stop! Stop it!” Hurts. They couldn’t just pry him open like that!

_They aren’t supposed to see. Stay away from that!_

He wasn’t sure why he thought that, though. Backing away from the table he made it as far as the door before it audily locked, as though child proofed against him. Somehow he ended up on his aft on the floor curled around himself, and his whole body was shaking in fear and building tension. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be touched or seen or even talked about. He wanted to disappear and fold himself into a million pieces.

Nobody approached him thankfully, or so his humming audio box was telling him, and after a minute of shaking and venting unevenly the feeling of violation started to subside. The floor was safe, so he stayed down there. Mostly safe, anyway, until someone took a step in his direction, making him flinch away, arms tightening around his helm that he kept ducked close to his chest.

“Sam?” Said carefully, cautiously. Optimus sounded… pained, almost. And guilty. “Sam, it’s alright, no one is going to force you to do anything.”

“His processor registered that as an attack, he’s in defense mode. Should have known better than trying to open it with an implanted command, useless piece of scrap,” Ratchet bit out, falling beside Sam with a clank. Aid moved to come in closer as well but Sam pulled back, cowering. “It’s alright, Sam, Aid isn’t going to do that again, and you don’t have to show us anything you aren’t comfortable sharing. We can try to scan it again in a few days, maybe the Allspark will have stopped shrouding it by then. Do you understand?” He jerked upright, embarrassed. This wasn’t him acting out, this was his stupid new processor or whatever. He was an adult, he could handle a tiny examination.

“It’s fine! You can see it, just don’t ever do that again.” Uncertain, Ratchet glanced back at Optimus and Aid, clearly seeking guidance. That was new. 

“Are you sure about that? Your stress levels are elevated still, and your back strut is- well, exhibiting a rather new line of defense.” Confused, Sam reached back, feeling something protruding from his spine. Was that like… a safety measure?   
“Sorry.” The stress vanished, and he heard the spikes slide back into their previous place, wherever that was. If not for the immense gratitude he felt at being able to relax, he would have snapped at Ratchet for once more interfering with his processor. 

“Come on,” he muttered, helping Sam up. He kept his arms wrapped protectively around his middle, optics and helm abashedly downcast. 

“I’m sorry.” He was being childish. Running from something that was probably not that big of a deal in the first place and making everything harder on Ratchet who was clearly trying to help him.  
“There is nothing to apologize for,” Optimus stated firmly, leaning in close to hold Sam’s gaze. “It was a logical reaction to someone trying to control your body. Especially to access your spark chamber.” 

“Yeah, but I totally freaked out like some kid.” The massive Autobot cocked his head to the side, seemingly amused by this. The amusement faded and a more serious look darkened his face.

“While First Aid meant well, but if someone else wanted at your spark and they got to it, terrible things could happen. You were instinctively keeping it safe.” Righ~t… Thoroughly terrified, Sam just nodded and accepted the warning. Don’t let strange robots touch spark, simple enough.

“So how do I… access it myself?”

“Really Sam, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he admonished, making Sam have to bite back on a retort. At this point, he had to for pride’s sake.

“I want to see it.” He’d been thinking about it already, and if he’d just manned up and let First Aid do his thing, things would be a lot less awkward. Agreeing wearily, they didn’t make him get back on the table, and First Aid kept his distance. Distantly he realized he’d probably hurt the bot’s feelings. 

“It's easy enough to control,” Ratchet told him as he leaned against the counter for support. “Just focus on that area and let your programming take over.” Closing his optics, Sam thought about his human chest, about the muscle- or lack thereof- that he’d had and lost in the transition into Cybertronian. Distantly, he wondered if flexing muscles was the same as getting his plates to shift like Optimus had shown him that one time.

Apparently, it was. His optics shot open at the unfamiliar sensation of his body just snapping, moving to let them all peer in, but it wasn’t as uncomfortable as before. It still felt bad, awkward, but he gripped the counter behind him and bore through it while Ratchet leaned down, optics flicking over the exposed spark.

“What’s it look like, can I see?” He tried to tuck his helm down but it was too far in. Optimus crouched down, his optics lighting up as he deployed a hologram of Sam’s form. The Hologram-Sam was holding onto the counter for dear life, legs quaking under him while he stared up with scared green optics. Was that how he looked? He inwardly shuddered in embarrassment. 

The spark in the hologram wasn’t very bright, but it was captivating. Yellowish, similar to Bumblebee’s own color but a lighter shade, and not all that sparky looking. More like a little splash of light, flickering hesitantly. It reminded him of a flashlight who’s batteries were dying. As he peered closer into it he realized they were all watching him again. Ratchet was completely still, optics shutting as he turned his head away, as if unable to look a moment longer.

“How come it’s so flickery?” They’d told him it’d be weaker, but it looked like it was about to sizzle out to him.

“It’s okay, that’s normal. You can close up, now, we’ve gathered all the information we can.” Ratchet was using his very even medic voice, which told him one of two things. Either he was lying, or there was something else about it that wasn’t normal.

“Is it supposed to be so yellow?” The insistent look on his face made Sam huff, letting his chassis close shut. “What are you so worried about, if it's normal?”

“Not wanting you to push yourself is not me being worried, it’s me being sensible. You are clearly uncomfortable, take a minute to collect yourself.” Ratchet stalked away and Sam had the growing suspicion it was to better hide his expression. He was right then, Ratchet was hiding something. 

“Sam, I’m so sorry about before,” Aid said, stepping into his personal space and patting his helm, effectively catching him off guard and distracting him from Optimus pulling away to follow Ratch. He added, for unneeded clarification, “you were right to react like you did, I overstepped your boundaries.”

“Oh. I’m sorry for that, though. I’m still getting used to all this I guess. I’m not mad at you, though. You couldn’t have known I’d freak out like that right?” Freak out was a good term for it, too. Sam still felt twisted and wrong inside, his perception of every little thing altered, even his own mind. Maybe that’s why it was so easy to forgive Aid- who was likely only acting as any doctor would- despite the tight coil of discomfort still roiling him. 

First Aid, thankfully, took his answer in stride. “You’re too kind. If I’d pulled that on anyone else they’d have scrapped me.”

Ignoring the fact that Sam was neither big enough to scrap anyone or inclined to do so, he looked back at the other mechs. While Ratchet spoke quietly with Optimus, he realized that he was wasting whatever precious little time he had left before he began to tire again. Already he suspected they weren’t happy with how stressed he’d gotten.

“Bee! I want to see him now!” Optimus and Ratchet stopped, turning his way in surprise. “You said yourself he could visit, I’ve done everything you asked, now please, I just wanna see Bumblebee.” 

“He’s on his way right now,” Optimus assured him, ignoring the way the senior medic snapped at him in Cybertronian. 

“What happened to adhering to the rules of my domain?” Though Ratchet’s tone was biting, Optimus didn’t seem to take offense.

“Bee won’t hurt him. Besides, they’ve earned some time to themselves after everything they’ve been through,” Optimus declared, giving Sam a reassuring nod.

“Thanks…” For the first time since he’d ‘onlined’ he was able to relax on his own, put at ease by the very loud commotion outside. That couldn’t already be him, could it?

“You’d think he was waiting right around the corner,” Ratchet said in exasperation, noting how quick the Autobot had gotten here as well. Sam wasn’t sure himself how far the hangar was from the medbay, but he felt like Optimus might have given the younger Autobot a heads up the moment he’d first asked about seeing Bee. 

_Jazz_ , he realized with a start. He’d sent word with Jazz.

“Aid, I’d go wait in the back. Bee is aware of the stress response Sam experienced and I would hazard a guess that he suspects it was your doing.” Optics blinking fearfully at Optimus’ warning, Aid disappeared into the office-like room behind the bigger work tables. The moment the door shut Bee burst in on the opposite side, whirling happily as he found Sam standing up and awake. Sam pushed off the counter with a slight in-vent, an odd sensation flooding his processor at the sight of his friend and guardian. Relief and excitement, maybe?

Before Ratchet could intercept them Bee was racing forward and picking him up in a delighted whine, spinning him once before tugging him close in some approximation of a hug. All the while he was chirping out loud champion music from his radio. 

“You’re alright,” Sam exclaimed, ex-venting when he realized he’d been holding his breath in the whole time. Bee was more than fine, he was bouncing from one pede to the other in a way that confused Sam until he twirled him out, snapping him back to his chest in one grand gesture. He was _dancing_ with him. Laughing in pure delight and happiness, he reached as far around his friend as he could, hugging him back tightly. His arms were only slightly longer than before, so it still felt like hugging a signal tower, but it was the thought that mattered. 

All the wrong disappeared for a moment. This, for one blissful second, felt perfectly right. Even though his feet weren’t touching the floor, he felt safe and comfortable. 

“Bumblebee!” At Ratchet’s warning, Bee set him back down. Not without some fight from Sam, though. He was enjoying himself. 

“I missed you,” he whispered, paying no mind to Optimus’ amused chuckling or the annoyed rambling of Ratchet over safety in his medbay. Even if Bee was still many feet taller than him, it felt like they were on even ground for the first time in his life. No one could blame him for taking a minute to just stare or feel.

“I was never far,” Bee promised, gently stroking his face plate. It sent shivers down his back and the armor plates on his shoulders flared up. His whole helm felt hot. “I am still your guardian bumblebee, after all.”

“Angel, Bee, they’re called guardian- nevermind. Are you okay? They said Ravage attacked us. Did she hurt you?” Bee pulled away from him as if burned, a sad whirl coming from his voice box. When he spoke, his voice was deeper, darker, eliciting a strange noise from Sam’s own voice box.

“No. I suffered no serious injuries.” Something grabbed his back and tugged him further away from Bee, making him shout in both surprise and indignation. Ratchet was openly glaring at Bee, keeping them now a few feet apart.

“He’s still acclimating. Do or say anything that threatens his recovery and I’ll kick you right back out.” Sam tried pulling free, reaching for Bee’s hesitantly raised servos. It was futile.

“I won’t hurt him.” It was a genuine promise, and one that did not put him at ease seeing as how he didn’t release Sam just yet. Still, it was enough for Optimus to step in and have Ratchet let him go. “You were in pain earlier. Are you alright,” Bee asked, optics flicking up to the medic as if asking if that was allowed. 

“What? I’m fine. Completely fit as a fiddle.” He went right back to Bee with a huff, content now that he was actually here and happy and not suffering alone in the hangar. “You visited me and Ratchet plenty right? You know I’m fine.”

“Being told it and seeing for myself are vastly different. As I’m sure you know.” Ducking his head, Sam realized he’d been doing nothing but worrying about Bee despite the many assurances he got that his friend was okay. 

“I guess so.” Smiling, Sam leaned back into Bee’s hold. They didn’t have to talk, not really. This was enough for now. Judging by the way Bee sat down, curling Sam in his arms protectively, he felt the same.

All at once, he felt something in his processor slip loose and three helms snapped his way, Bee scrambling away from him. Emotions the size of a skyscraper converged on him, warm but sharper than a blade, soothing and electric, and it made him dizzy trying to make sense of it all.

His chest was thrumming loudly, body heating up despite the huge cooling breath he vented in. There was a presence tugging away from him and yet clawing towards him, terrified and yet longing. Pulling away yet wanting to hook around him.

Bee. He followed after it, a new bizarre need taking hold of him. It was so completely Bee in every way that he latched onto it without thought, the thrumming dying down before exploding into blissful nothing. Into beautiful _everything_.

It was more than being wrapped in Bumblebee’s arms, and more than sitting in his cab while they sped down the street away from Decepticons. It was like being right alongside Bee’s mind, their thoughts interchanging and melting together.

Sam wasn’t sure, at first, where his own thoughts began and Bee’s began. Too wrapped up in the fullness he suddenly felt as intentions he’d never noticed made themselves known.

“ _Bee_ ,” he whispered, shocked at the sheer devotion the Autobot felt for him. Sam was not just a charge. Not just a friend. He was a breath of life in a world where all the air had been all but sucked out of the older mech. 

_“Sam.”_ The voice reverbed around him like a song in a cathedral. It was sheepish and embarrassed, but happy. He rejoiced in the happiness, at least.

 _“What is this,”_ he asked. Nothing he’d ever experienced lived up to this, it simply couldn’t. There was a slight pain that came with the influx of feelings, but he was pretty sure that was just because of the new depth he now felt opening in his processor.

 _“Welcome to our bond space,”_ Bee answered, nudging against him knowingly. “ _My spark is yours.”_

 _What?_ Gentle fingers grabbed a hold of him, tugging him away from Bee’s mind. Unlike Sam, he didn’t object, simply waved him away reassuringly.

A drastically different presence was there, wrapping around him like a net. Not in a strictly bad way, except that Bee’s mind slipped further from his grasp. 

The noise and feelings blanked out completely once they were far enough away from each other, and everything returned to how it was before. Quiet, normal, empty. His chest felt full and bright, still, at least. Through the fuzzy corners of his consciousness, he realized someone was talking to him.

“Sam? Sam, can you hear me?” Ratchet. They were all speaking to him. Optimus and Bee trying to coax him into opening his eyes while countless scans were run on his collapsed body. 

“What was-” his voice box crackled, voice breaking weakly with residual emotion. Trying again, clearer this time, “what was that?”

His optics shuttered a few times slowly, taking in the concerned face of Ratchet before he turned his head to find Bee crouched on the floor still. He was scared for him, wanted to reach out and hold him but refrained. How long had he been lying on the floor?

“It was my fault,” the medic said, furious and ashamed all at once. Sam flinched back from the feelings, uncertain how he was even feeling them. “I let my medical override software slip and your Link program activated. It’s still on, but I’ve- I adopted your spark so you’re safely blocking out any waves you might have heard.” 

“Huh?” Completely dazed still, he looked back at Bee, smiling despite the splitting headache building. 

“Creator protocols. I… We discussed earlier how it wouldn’t be enough to let you go without a Creator. You have one now.” Oh. Still unclear, but that kind of made sense. Sam laughed, then stopped because ‘ _ouch, helm feels like it just got squashed under a giant foot_ ,’ and then laughed some more.

“Bee, what did you say before?” He’d said something, what was it? My spark is yours. That was really nice of him, but what the _fuck_ did it mean? Above him, Ratchet froze and rage flooded them both. 

“You _bonded_ with him,” he snapped, following Sam’s gaze to Bee, who jerked upright. 

“I assure you, it was mutual,” Optimus cut in. He’d been oddly quiet up to that point, but there was a hidden glee in his words now. Pride, too. “I held witness to it myself. Sam reached out first, even.”

“He’s a Newspark! How would he even know how to bond?” Vaguely affronted, Sam started to roll over, sitting up with an incredible amount of difficulty. 

“Bee,” he whispered, or maybe shouted. “What’s that mean, the thing you said?”

“Don’t worry about what it means,” Ratchet yelled, and then immediately softened in regret as Sam pressed away, helm throbbing harder. “You’re in pain.” 

“Just a headache.” Or, well… Did Cybertronians get headaches the same way humans did? Or was this something else. Either way it was not going away. 

“I think it would be wise for Sam to recharge as soon as possible. You’ll have to put blocks in place for him.” Optimus was talking to Ratchet, it seemed. Blocks. That sounded uncomfortable. 

“You won’t feel it. In fact, it might help with the pain.” By all means, block away, he thought, changing his mind completely. The low humming coming from all three- four, First Aid had peaked out to see what was happening- of them stopped. The pain began to subside instantly. 

Ratchet mumbled something, helping Sam up the rest of the way off the floor. 

“It’s already done, there’s no point in fighting over it,” Optimus chastised. Bee looked uncertain, optics glued to Sam completely unwavering but staying back. Sam wanted to close the distance between them but at his friend’s -bonded’s- hesitation, he held back as well, uncertain. Was Bee upset with him? Should he not have reached for his presence like that?

All at once Sam felt a flood of worry and fear rush through him. What if he’d just done something he wasn’t supposed to and now he’d hurt Bee? Optimus said _he_ reached out, not Bee!

“He’s holding back because he knows I’ll knock him on his aft if he comes one step closer,” Ratchet told him, not even bothering to pretend he wasn’t blatantly reading Sam’s every thought. “Lucky I don’t weld the twins to him, piece of scrap.”

“Hey! Don’t talk about him like that,” Sam argued, protectiveness shooting through him. Bee wasn’t scrap. He was beautiful. 

“Sam, lay down.” Ignoring him, he looked over at Bee. Was he really that scared of Ratchet? The medic was all talk, honestly. 

“I think it’d be wise to listen to Ratchet, Sam. You’re currently crashing very fast.” The warmth from before _was_ fading very quick, but he felt if he just stepped closer to Bee it’d come back. Clearly that wasn’t going to happen, though. One little step in his direction and both Optimus and Ratchet followed suit.

“I’m fine! I feel perfectly fine!” He didn’t, but the frustration and distress from being separated from Bee was worse than the quickly rising exhaustion.

“We aren’t banning him from visiting again,” Ratchet said in exasperation. “When you wake up he’ll be allowed back in.” 

“If I rest for a bit will someone explain what just happened? Bee?” His companion nodded, helm ducking under the medic’s scrutiny. 

“Of course! It’s your right to know,” Optimus assured him, pointedly glancing at Ratchet as if the words were meant for him, too. Begrudgingly, Sam wobbled to the table he was becoming far too acquainted with and climbed onto it. 

“Can Bee stay?” Even Optimus winced at that idea. 

“No,” Ratchet interjected, finality so strong even Optimus probably wouldn’t have opposed it, if he did disagree that is. Bee whirled sadly at his decisiveness, but didn’t argue. Sam knew he’d like to, though. 

“Fine. I’ll… I’ll sleep for a little while. Don’t be mean to Bee, though.” He’d know if they yelled at him. He wasn’t sure how, but he would.

“He’ll be fine. You’re probably going to wake up sooner than he is, though.” It wasn’t outright a threat, but it made Sam prickly nonetheless.

“He didn’t do anything wrong did he?” It was both an honest question and a complaint at Ratchet’s tone. 

“No, not wrong. Ratchet, perhaps you should help him rest.” Knowing he didn’t like the sound of that, Sam cursed the drowsiness that shot through him. However Ratchet was doing that, human nurses must be so jealous. 

Sam’s last thought was something to do with nurses and Bee swinging him in his arms before. It was a happy enough note to end the short day on.

Why then, did he dream of metal claws scraping and dragging against him painfully. Of being suspended in midair while red optics glared down at him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost forgot to post this one! Let me know if this one didn't flow as smoothly or shifts too quickly, please!
> 
> I edited the end of the last chapter and this one!

To say that Sam was pissed off and hurt was probably an understatement. The biggest understatement, maybe. 

“Weren’t you the one who said we had time? That I could choose a creator?” After spending an entire day and a half asleep, Sam had woken up from terrible nightmares muddled and demanding answers. They weren’t exactly what he’d been expecting. The anger started to trickle away and he bristled, shooting a glare at Ratchet, who was leaning over a large computer. “Stop! You can’t just control my emotions like that!” 

“It’s better than listening to your constant shouting.” Feeling very calm but equally offended, Sam decided he could be _very_ quiet if that’s how Ratchet really felt. He hung his head, hoping _very_ much that today would be the day he got to at least leave this room. 

“You feel like I’m overstepping boundaries. Would you honestly rather be angry?” He ignored the medic, thoughts returning to getting out of that room and seeing Bee. Bee, who’d been on his mind quite a bit. Every time he remembered the experience they’d shared he felt his face plates heating up in what was apparently the Autobot equivalent of a blush. Luckily, it was probably less noticeable than a human blush.

“It’s just as obvious for us, believe me,” Ratchet mused, and Sam found the flush deepening in embarrassment this time. He really hoped he could leave soon. 

“Why are you reading my mind? Why?” It was his only safe space at this point! Or should have been, now he didn’t have one at all. 

“It’s not something I can help, believe me. And as for the other thing, I didn’t have any other choice besides adopting you. My medical software was failing to turn your Link systems back off and you were connecting too quickly with every info source in a mile radius, Autobots included. I believe that’s precisely the kind of stress that caused you to offline last time.” That part had been kind of painful, truth be told, and his head hurt just remembering it.

Leaning back into the wall as he sat on the floor, where he’d been for nearly half an hour now, Sam remained quiet and seething. The issue wasn’t that he resented what Ratchet had done for him, he appreciated it, in fact. 

No, his problem was what it meant for his family.

“They’ll still love you. They’re still your parents,” Ratchet told him quietly, for possibly the fifteenth time.

“Just not legally, right? Because now they’re no longer acknowledged as my family by your laws?” Screw Cybertronian customs and laws, Sam was a human and a Witwicky just over two weeks ago. They raised him, loved him.

“Even if we made an exception for you and kept your human legal documents, what would you do with them? It wouldn’t be enough to grant you visitation with them in California, not looking like you do now.” If Sam was being honest, he hadn’t really given that much thought. He was still in denial about the whole no-longer-human part.

“But it would let them come see me, right?” Distantly he felt a tired resolve, acceptance, and twitched in annoyance. “You’re doing it again.” 

“Apologies.” He stared off away from Sam, an incomprehensible look on his face, as if he were trying to puzzle something out.

“How come you’re able to control my emotions?” It’d been alarming at first, but after the first few times he couldn’t be bothered to care. Apparently he’d been doing it ‘on accident,’ or so he claimed.

“It’s a tool I’d normally utilize on the battlefield. The last thing I need from my patients is them freaking out while I’m trying to repair them.” That made sense, Sam figured. Only in the way that anything he told him could have made sense though. If he’d said it was because Autobots were telepathic he would have nodded and accepted it. “Your trust in me is admirable and foolish. It’d be far too easy to lie to you.”

“Ouch. Please stop.” Ratchet smiled softly, amused at Sam’s lightheartedness.

“You have more energy today. That’s a good sign.” Hope blossomed inside of him in an instant, and regret filled the medic’s optics. “No. Absolutely not, it’s only been three days you could still be at risk of offlining.”

“Come on, the fact that it’s been three days is precisely why I should be allowed to leave. You said it yourself, I have more energy. Plenty to go explore this place, right?”

“You can barely stand, Sam!” He could stand fine! Although, the fact that he currently wasn’t didn’t help his case.

“I need lots of practice then!” They glared at each other, neither willing to give in. Sam was about to break the silence when the door opened. It was Jazz.  
“What are you still doing up, Ratch? Have you not recharged, yet?” Looking between the two of them, Sam tried using the wall to stand up, finding he was kind of stuck as his heel struts kept slipping out from under him.

“I don’t have time to sleep right now,” he groused, turning the computer off and turning to face the Autobot with a tired look. “No.”

“I didn’t even say anything, yet,” Jazz complained as he helped Sam stand. 

“You’re either here to take him around the base and put him on display or to tell me Ironhide has once more redesigned his blasted cannons and needs them upgraded.” At Jazz’s optimistic tilt he added, “I don’t care if Optimus thinks he’s ready, he hasn’t been reading the boy’s scans every day.”

“About that. You have to recharge, doc. Optimus’ orders. I’ll look after Sam, myself, don’t worry.” The look he shot Jazz suggested he’d very much worry and there was nothing any of them could do about it. However, he did relent finally.

“Fine. If I find out you dimwits endangered him in any way I’ll offline you before you can say ‘fuc-”

“Ratchet! Go get some sleep, I’ll be fine,” Sam commanded, cutting off the medic. With a grumble he shuffled to the back of the room and disappeared to his private work space. As soon as the door shut Jazz was pulling him up and dragging him out of the medbay.

“So much to do, so little time,” he mumbled, looking around. Unfortunately he didn’t give him time to look around and take in the tall walls or the wide floor. There were doors more his size and doors catered to the larger mechs. Jazz was taking him through the bigger ones, probably because he couldn’t fit through the human doors.

Sam was still unsteady on his new feet, heel struts trying to counter his human pace with a more mechanoid one. The two instincts were battling it out and leaving him tilting on every third step.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught a window into a normal office.

“This place is designed for human access,” he asked, surprised Ratchet was voluntarily letting humans in the medbay. Then again, his parents had been by...

“There _are_ some humans on the base, believe it or not. This was the first human-Autobot building NEST completed, most aren’t ready yet. You’ll probably still have access to almost everywhere on the base, being so small, but be careful. Whole place was designed with us big guys in mind first and is still being made to accommodate shorter traffic around us. Lots of close calls with humans under our feet all the time.” How many times had Sam felt like he was going to be stepped on in Mission City? He could only imagine how difficult it was going to be now that he was surrounded by them. 

“Don’t get stepped on. Right, thanks for the tip.” Jazz laughed, opening the biggest door they’d stopped at so far. With a metal creak it parted in the middle and Sam resisted the urge to step back as he was met with actual sunlight for the first time in three days. 

“Welcome to NEST!” Immediately they were surrounded by Autobots, some Sam didn’t even recognize. 

“You really weren’t kidding, he’s tiny,” a towering giant of a red mech said, knocking his servo into Jazz in good humor. “Hey little guy. I’m Mirage, just crashed a few days ago.” 

“Nice to meet you,” he whispered, staring up in awe. Mirage wasn’t just tall, he was unlike any other Autobot Sam had seen. Shiny and adjourned with a symbol he didn’t recognise.

“Mirage belonged to a very wealthy family before the war,” Jazz explained in short, as if that cleared anything up. 

“I trust you’re more civilized than the rest of these ill-mannered simpletons?” _That_ cleared it up. Pompous, but not outwardly harsh. Just rude.

“He isn’t going to be much help in a fight,” a cold voice cut in, sending a shiver up Sam’s back strut. 

“He’s a Newspark, Blue, he isn’t going to be fighting and you know that.” The dark blue optics that turned on him from the equally dark blue Autobot made him want to cower back. Blue, very aptly named, was cold and hard in a way no other robot alien could be. “Sam, this is Bluestreak, he’s a sharpshooter and a menace to proper society. Watch out for him, he’ll just as soon save your aft as throw you to the Decepticons as bait.” 

“Hmmm. What are you looking at, speck,” Blue growled suddenly, coming down to get in Sam’s face. He pushed back against Jazz to escape, not realizing his current guide had moved behind him at some point. All at once the serious look in Blue’s face shattered and he rocked back with a laugh. They all started to laugh. He felt like he was missing something.  
Stepping around him, Jazz punched Bluestreak in the chest, knocking him on his back while he continued to chortle endlessly.

“I’m honestly surprised you managed to hold it together that long! You and your big mouth,” Jazz teased, and he understood at last. They were pranking him. They were actually _pranking_ him. 

“Oh haha, real mature,” he complained, straightening and watching Jazz help Blue back up. He looked much friendlier now, but something about his optics remained unchanged, dark. Somewhere deep within, Sam wondered if that had all been acting, or just a careful slip of a mask that otherwise was always in place.

“Easy sparkling, no one’s going to actually hurt you. Believe me, Ratchet’s vengeance alone is enough to scare us all into submission. You can call me Blue, you’ll probably be seeing me a lot around here.” By “around here” did he mean the medbay? Thoroughly concerned, he nodded up at him. What else could he do? 

“What are you three doing to him,” a more familiar voice cut through. Sam brightened instantly, whipped his head around to find him. Bee came around Mirage’s side and didn’t spare the rest of them a glance. He raced forward and dragged Sam up into a tight hug. Practically purring against him, he spoke softly, “I’m glad to see you up and walking.”

“Ah, young love,” Blue whispered, elbowing Jazz in the side. The two fist bumped, and Sam knew Jazz had taught him that probably immediately upon their arrival to Earth. 

“Bee, crushing me,” he wheezed, being set down quickly. 

“Sorry. I find that I missed you more today than I have all week combined. Seeing you awake and knowing you were longing for me as well only made me want to be near you more.” Touching, if a tad embarrassing because of the audience listening in intently. Sam ignored them in favor of looking back up at Bee, sighing in content. Once more, he was finding Bee made everything feel right. 

“Hopefully I’m out for good now, then, but I have a feeling Ratchet is going to be dragging me back for check ups all the time.” The medic had been very reluctant to release him in the first place.

“We’ll just make the most of our time together,” Bee announced, looking up at Jazz expectantly. 

“Yes, why don’t you finish showing him around for me, I have things to do. Catch you later, Sam.” Sam followed after Bee while Jazz pulled Bluestreak aside and started a new conversation with him, smiling brightly. Mirage was still watching them, though. He looked away, before they could make eye contact. 

“How come Mirage has a different emblem than the rest of you?” Was he allowed to ask that? It felt rude, now that it was out of his mouth.

“His family emblem. Mirage is old money, comes from a powerful and wealthy line. It meant a lot to him to keep the symbol, so Optimus allowed it.” Old money. So there were rich Cybertronians at one point.  
“Is that also why he’s so much taller than you guys?” Bee huffed, glancing back at the trio of Autobots.

“No, that would be because he wanted you to _think_ he was taller. He can make himself alter how he is perceived.” That sneaky bastard. So he’d been purposefully making Sam feel small? That was just plain cruel. 

The buildings and marks on the pavement were confusing, especially since there were roads everywhere with no sidewalks. Paint was the only thing that sectioned off the apparent pedestrian areas.

“Where are we going?” Everything was new to him still, and Bee wasn’t really explaining what was around them.

“We’re going to the Garage.” How apt, he thought as he snickered. 

The Garage was a tall and long building that looked incredibly dull from the outside. If not for the wrench and gear design he’d think it were just a warehouse. 

Unlike all the doors he’d seen so far this one wasn’t opened with a button but rather had to be manually opened by Bee.

Sam made it five feet into through the door before he found himself lifted off the floor, yelping loudly and latching onto the servo curled around him. 

“Put me down!” Sideswipe was regarding him with blatant amusement and awe. 

“Jazz wasn’t kidding, you’re still the size of an ant,” he joked, lowering him at Bee’s threatening glare. “Fine, fine, I’m putting him down.”  
The floor felt decidedly more unstable under him, but he stayed standing at least. Sooner or later he’d get used to his added height and pedes. 

“What is this place?” There were tools and worktables, it looked like. And about a dozen separated stations that each had distinct vehicles with their own colors and designs.

“This is where we customize our rides, so to speak,” Sideswipe announced, waving him over to an unkept space housing a corvette. There were tools scattered everywhere. “Can’t just choose our forms at random forever, you know? So when we find one we like we get it in here and deck it out how we want, then we’re free to scan it.” 

Sam reached out, touching the blue stripe half finished on the side of the silver vehicle. That hadn’t been there last time he saw Sideswipe in his alt mode. 

“You like it? It’s not done yet but I’m trying to convince Sunstreaker over there to get matching paint.” Peering around him, Sam found the twin leaning over a sleek red car, maybe a lamborghini, which was decidedly very different from his brother’s.

“I’m not messing up all my hard work for a stupid blue line,” he ground out, not even turning to look at them. Sideswipe sighed, looking at him with both fondness and irritation.

“I think I’ve almost changed his mind.” Absolutely confused about their dynamic, Sam looked at some of the other vehicles. Jazz’s still caught him off guard, despite having talked to the Autobot he hadn’t cemented the fact that he was alive and well yet. 

It didn’t escape his notice that Optimus and Bee had stations but they were empty.

“Those two only ever come here when their actual alt modes get dents and scuffs that Ratchet won’t fix,” Sideswipe explained. “Optimus is happy with his paint and Bee’s too attached to his to change it. Between you and me, I think he’s doing that for you.” 

“What, really?” He looked up at Bee, the same familiar surge of emotion swelling in his chest.

“You expressed your attraction to it to your friend last year.” Of course Bee remembered that. What had Sam even said? Something to do with liking the car more than Miles? 

“I’d like you in any form, Bee. You can look however you want.” Bumblebee gently stroked his back, an appreciative whirl on his voice box. “Though you do make a pretty badass camaro,” he mused.

Pride swelled in Bee’s optics, and he stood a little straighter.  
“And what about your look,” Sideswipe interrupted, easily ruining the air between the two of them. Two sets of annoyed optics turned on him, but as Sam processed his words he relaxed into a more vague irritation.

“Ratchet says I don’t have a lot to work with.” Then again, neither did Skids or Mudflap. They still managed, though. 

“I’m sure we’ll find something. In the meantime, we could do something about paint at least.” Sam knew a makeover when he saw one. Already shaking his head he started to back up, thinking of an excuse to be literally anywhere else.

“I don’t think he’s comfortable with that idea, yet.” Glancing up at his guardian, Sam wanted to flick him for his directness while at the same time thank him for getting Sideswipe to back off immediately.

“Alright, your loss. Why don’t you go show him the hangar and reintroduce him to everybody there?” The prospect of meeting even more people made him feel very tired, suddenly. 

“Isn’t the hangar where everyone sleeps?” He didn’t want to go back to sleep, but he had a feeling he’d have to soon.

“Some of us. Ratchet recharges in the medbay, as I’m sure you saw. Wheeljack hardly ever leaves his workshop so if he even recharges I’m sure he does it there.” Wheeljack? 

“He’s been here for a while, he just doesn’t get out much,” Bee explained. Right… Wheeljack. He sounded interesting, at least.

“Okay. Uh, bye.” Sideswipe gave him a little wave while Sunstreaker barely acknowledged him. One day he was going to get more than one word out of that mech that wasn’t an insult or him being grouchy.

They went out the door they came in, Bee closing it behind them. It made him tired just watching. Actually, no, he was just starting to get tired. Annoyed, he shook his head- helm- and tried to ignore it.

He hadn’t been up that long, had he? Ratchet said he had more energy, he should be fine for a few more minutes.

The hangar wasn’t far, thankfully. Just on the other side of the Garage, in fact, was the street that led right to it. His entrance was a lot more calm, this time, giving him time to look around at some of the alt mode transformers in recharge, and two who looked like they’d just come out of it.

“Sam?” Ironhide. Prowl. Uncertain, he approached the two shocked Autobots, feeling like he’d blinked and went back to Egypt. They’d been shouting at him to get down, before the cannon fire struck the ground at his heels and killed him. 

Ironhide couldn’t have gotten to him, not while he was fighting off Barricade, and Prowl was stuck on the other side of the air support fire. Neither of them had been there when he died, though, drawn away by the enemy. Sam wasn’t sure they even knew he’d died.

“It’s good to see you two are alright” he whispered, glancing between the two of them. Prowl was the first to snap out of his surprise.

“We heard you were up, but everyone thought you’d be stuck in the medbay for longer.” Ironhide seemed to remember himself and reached down, digit pressed against Sam’s chest, maybe making sure he was really there. Or maybe he was feeling the low thrum of his spark, which Sam only noticed when he concentrated really hard.

“You scared us, punk.” A honk- yes, an actual honk- drew Sam back as he turned to find Bee protectively leaning over him.

“I’m being careful,” the weapon’s specialist assured him, smiling mischievously. Shaking his helm, he looked back down at Sam in what could only be described as awe. “A living Newspark...”

“Righ~t. Are you okay? What happened to your arm?” It was hanging limply at his side, cannon engaged. Beaming at him gleefully, Ironhide swung it forward for him to see.

“Fighting those Decepticons made me realize I could stand for a few upgrades. I’ve fixed the charge behind it so next time we’re in a tight fight I can blast those bastards to bits.” The cannons started to power on, making all three of them jump back. Bee dragged him back while Ironhide smacked it, disabling it. “Damn thing isn’t installed correctly. I’m going to turn Aid into scrap for this.”

“Bet Ratchet will help you, the two have been doing nothing but arguing for the past three days.” The arm blocking his view slowly disappeared, but he gave Bee an appreciative smile. 

“Maybe I should pay him a visit then. He can fix my cannons and we can plan Aid’s untimely demise,” he joked, keeping his arm held back cautiously as Sam tried to get a closer look. “Better stay back, I don’t want it to go off again and put a hole in you.”

“I left him with you for twenty minutes and there's already talk of putting holes in him,” Jazz exclaimed, popping up behind Bee sneakily. Sam wasn’t the only one who jumped.  
“I would have kept him safe,” Bee protested, but Jazz just waved him off.

“I know. If I suspected he wouldn’t be safe with you I wouldn’t have agreed to let you take him around the base, but I’ll take over from here.” Both of them started to protest, but were cut off by a rare moment of Jazz taking charge. “Bee, it’s time for you to recharge. Sam, Optimus wants to see you.” 

Somewhat guiltily, Bee nodded. Although he wasn’t ready to part ways with him just yet, they clearly both had their orders. 

“I’ll see you later, right,” he asked, looking between the mechs carefully. 

“I promise,” Bee answered, giving him a reassuring smile. Not for the first time that day, he felt a bit lost. He watched as Bee transformed into his alt mode and powered down, the normal hum of his fans quieting considerably. It wasn’t exactly nighttime, which seemed the most practical time for recharging for humans _and_ Autobots, but Sam suspected everyone had been putting off resting for a while.

“Alright, let’s get you to Optimus. He’s overseeing training right now and wants to talk to you.” Jazz led him out of the hangar, not even blinking when Ironhide fell into place at his other side.

“You and Bee, huh,” he asked, optics regarding him lightly as they walked. Sam looked up from the floor to glare at him, his words striking a cord.

“How do you know about that? Is it obvious or something?” Absolutely _no_ privacy! No more secrets? At Ironhide’s laugh he hunched over defensively. 

“It’s not obvious, no. Bee’s just already told us. He’s made it very clear you’re his bonded now.” Why would he tell everyone… Sam gasped, hiding his face. Leave it to him to get saddled with the most prideful Autobot in existence. “Relax, he’s just making sure we all know to stay away from his mate, don’t humans do the same?” 

"What? No! I’m gonna hit him a golf club.” It’d probably only hurt the club. 

“If it’s any consolation, not a single one of us was surprised. I mean, the two of you just click, y’know,” Jazz pointed out, easing some of the painful embarrassment away. “Plus, Bumblebee was practically obsessed with you from the time he first saw you.”

That first year had been insane, but obsessed? Then again, Bee did have a habit of kicking out passengers he deemed unwanted. Mikaela and Sam were the only two he ever humored. Although now… Sam could probably fit in the back seat of his cab, so they probably weren’t going to be having any more intimate drives. That thought was a major downer.

“Hey, it's okay with us if that's what you're worried about,” Ironhide assured him, drawing Sam out of his now somber thoughts. He was too tired for this. “Like Jazz said, it wasn’t a surprise.”

“Why wouldn’t you be okay with it? Is someone else not okay with it?” Two sets of tense optics pointedly did not meet his gaze. “Someone _is_? Who? Why?”

“It’s not important. The point is we have your back.” While Jazz had probably been aiming for comforting, his words only made Sam anxious. 

“From what? What are they saying? Is it… Is it someone I know? My dad hasn’t heard yet, has he?” If anyone would be against this it'd be his mother, not his dad, but Ron Witwicky did like to complain. Confused for an instant, Ironhide blinked once and then understanding crossed his face plates.

“No, your life givers don’t know yet. We’ve sent word notifying them you woke up, but they don’t know anything else.” Right. But someone else knew and didn’t like it. “If I knew it’d worry you so much I wouldn’t have brought it up. It’s fine, little Newspark, even if they aren’t happy about it all they can do is be mad.” 

“Is it a human? Or an Autobot?” Was that why Sunstreaker gave him the cold shoulder? No, he was always like that. One of the new mechs? Sam shuddered, remembering Blue towering over him, optics swirling with dangerous light.

“Sam! It’s fine. Please try to stay calm and forget about it.” This was the first time he’d gotten so worked up and not been contained by Ratchet. 

“No one is angry at Bee, right?” Sighing in exasperation, Hide gave Jazz a tired grin and turned around, heading back to the hangar. 

“Gee, thanks!” Jazz ushered Sam along, muttering to himself. “No one is angry at Bee, no. And like we said, no one is going to do anything or say anything to you.”

* * *

The training grounds, as it turned out, were entirely inside. Soldiers and mech alike were strategizing ways to work together against another team of just the Autobots. It looked like Skids and Mudflap had gotten stuck on the enemy team, while Optimus stood overlooking the training exercise with intense interest, giving them pointers.

When he noticed Jazz and Sam he called off the exercise.

“Take a break, regroup and consider ways we can improve.” Putting his servo down, Optimus waited while Sam grimaced. Was he really asking that? “It's okay, I won’t drop you.”

“I can hear you just fine from down here, you know.” Still, he crawled into the hand, hanging on for dear life when Optimus straightened back up. 

“And yet, I can hear you much better up here,” he mused. “I’m told you got to see the Garage and the hangar. I trust everyone has been welcoming.”

“Oh yeah, very welcoming. You know, Autobots are a lot nicer to other Autobots than they are humans. And I say that knowing full well they were a lot nicer to _me_ than other humans.” Optimus laughed, going to step over the fake battlefield and pausing, letting some of the soldiers flee. After several close calls, he opted for carrying Sam outside and sitting down. 

“It would be very bad if I stepped on someone.” Jazz _had_ mentioned a lot of close calls.

““I think if they don’t get out of your way then it’s poetic justice. I mean they can see you from a mile away, but you can’t always see them.” Amused, Optimus just tilted his head to regard Sam, intrigued.

"You are very interesting, Samuel Witwitcky." Interesting? Or weird?

“What is it you wanted to talk about?” Other than Sam's oddness.

“I wanted to be sure you were doing okay. It’s been a long time since anyone here has dealt with a Newspark, I was worried we’d all be a bit rusty, as you humans say. Everyone is being careful, I trust?” Newspark this, Newspark that. Despite Ratchet telling him they all still saw him the same it was starting to feel like they didn’t.

“No one has to treat me any different! You realize that, right?” Leaning back in his servo, Sam glared up at the sky, the clouds looking much brighter than before. “I may have a spark now but I’m still just me! It feels like everyone thinks I’m some invalid now, with how cautious they're being.”

“It isn’t out of any disrespect for you. Your place in our society has changed, that is a fact, and it might have affected how some of us feel about you, but not everyone. Has Bee treated you any different? Jazz? Ratchet or Ironhide?” Not entirely, unless you account for the fact that before he and Bee weren’t _bonded_ and Ratchet hadn’t been his new legal _parent_. 

“No…” Jazz had been just the same, like an older brother constantly showing off, and Ironhide was was careful but not condescending. Not more so than usual, at least. 

“They were there when you took down Megatron, and when you tried to save Bee from your own government. Even if you have changed on the outside, those who truly know you can see that you are the same within.” Huffing, Sam looked back at his optics, those humble wise optics, and felt some of the irritation start to ebb away. Some.

“So they know I’m the same, but they’re still going to walk on eggshells around me,” he asked, putting the Autobot leader on the spot.

“Sam… You are important to us. More than you may realize. You may have your human life experience, but most Newsparks are thrown into this world with nothing but their own basic instincts to find a suitable creator to train and raise them. They were the most vulnerable of us. Very few managed to survive the war.” 

“They killed Newsparks?” That thought felt dark twisted, especially from an outside point of view.

“We took as many under our wings as we could, Autobots and Decepticons alike, but without a creator Newsparks won’t make it long, and their creators were being killed in the war.” Orphaned and left to die, then. That wasn’t much better

“The Decepticons took in Newsparks, too? I can’t imagine Megatron having that kind of sympathy for anything.” Pain clouded his face, then, and Sam worried he’d said something wrong.

“Megatron’s efforts in the war were unique, in that regard. Whereas most of us, on both sides, sought to protect Newsparks and their creators, he sought to collect them and turn them against his enemies. If the creators refused, it was the Newsparks who suffered.” Flinching back, a wave of realization hit him. 

“He only wanted them for his army, then,” he guessed, and Optimus nodded. “And the Newsparks of those who didn’t cooperate? What happened to them afterwards?” 

“None survived. You might notice a distinct lack of younger Decepticons. Megatron did not want weak soldiers. If he couldn’t have the creators, they, along with their Newsparks, were destroyed.” His chest ached, at the thought. Megatron wasn’t just a monster, he was the stuff of nightmares.

“That's-”

“It tore our world apart. The brutality Newsparks have faced haunts us all to this day. If they are overly careful around you, and look at you with hope when all you’ve done is step outside or smile, try to keep in mind that they aren’t just seeing you, Samuel Witwicky. They are seeing the first Newspark who dared to live in many vorns.” No pressure, he thought grimly. 

“Gee, thanks. I’m going to have nightmares knowing the guy who killed kids had me trapped to a table less than a month ago.” Worry flashed across Optimus’ face plates and he forced a tight smile. “Don’t worry, they’ve been common enough ever since Mission City.”

“I hadn’t realized it took such a toll on you. You hide it well.” That didn’t sound like a compliment, coming from his judging tone.

“Being near Bee helps. I use to sleep in the back seat to keep the bad dreams away.” The thought of sleep made him remember his own exhaustion, and he found himself leaning further back in Optimus’ servo. “I’ve had a few odd dreams since this happened, especially that first night… Nothing I can’t handle though.”

“That’s good to hear,” said quietly, as Sam closed his eyes and in-vented slowly. He tried to keep his optics open and found his fans slowing, getting ready to put him to sleep. “You need rest. I’ll take you to the hangar.”

“What? Oh, okay. Wasn’t I supposed to go back to the medbay? Ratchet will throw a fit.” Optimus didn’t answer, just stood up and cradled Sam close to his chassis, to keep from accidentally dropping him. It felt like an oddly warm gesture, and one that only further sped up his descent into sleep.

They got to the hangar much faster, and in his sleepy state he looked around to see Ironhide looking up at them fearfully and a transforming Bee. They came over quickly, concern in his friend's eyes.

“What happened, is he alright?” Optimus replied quietly, too quietly for him to hear, and set him down on the floor by Bee. 

“Right... I’ll send word with Aid, then, so Ratchet knows what's up. He can recharge here.” Ironhide walked away and Bee crouched beside him, stroking his face plates. 

“You’re safe here, Sam.” He knew that.

“I thought you were recharging,” he muttered, leaning into the touch. Bee joined him on the floor, wrapping an arm around him. 

“I am. Why don’t you recharge as well.” Good enough for Sam, he could barely keep his eyes open.  
“Night, Bee.” 

“Goodnight, Sam.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As you probably guessed I did very little writing over the holidays, but I'm back now! Will resume my normal schedule of posting short chapters daily, or long chapters every other day! 
> 
> P.S  
> I read so many transformers comics these past few days! I hope you guys like the added character alignments!!!

_Sam’s optics shuttered once, First Aid standing before him._

_“Sam only mentioned that they were nightmares, he didn’t say what they were about.” He ex-vented slowly, his growing list of concerns making him tired and irritated. He hadn’t wanted to go back to sleep after Optimus returned his bonded and warned them about the dreams._

_“You know he shouldn’t be able to have nightmares at all, what else could it be?”_

_“Even if he_ is _experiencing prophetic visions there isn’t a whole lot we can do about it,” First Aid said, and Sam felt real pain in his chest._

_“There has to be something,” he pleaded, holding his bonded closer while he recharged peacefully._

_“We can try to better understand them, and work from there. I’m sure Ratchet will know more.” Ratchet was in recharge still, but Sam knew the moment he heard of this he'd be coming by. “Optimus said he mentioned the nightmares aren’t as bad when he’s with you. For now you should both just focus on resting.”_

_“How can I rest knowing he’s suffering somewhere I can’t reach him?” If he could only be there, if he could only help in some way._

_“Sam has fought his own battles before, as you well know,” First Aid pointed out, but it did little to calm him._

_“If it were up to me he wouldn’t have.” He had been unequipped to face those enemies, and suffered for it. “Optimus had prophetic visions as a Newspark. What if-”_

_“It could be nothing. It could be simple nightmares. We can’t jump to conclusions.” Jumping to conclusions was all they_ could _do!_

_Sam looked down at his bonded, stroking his helm with the barest of touches. It wouldn’t do any good to accidentally wake him up, not when he needed all the energy he could get to stabilize his spark. Sam wilted further at the thought._

_“We’ve changed his life completely. What if it wasn’t for the better?” Coming to Earth, meeting the interesting little human had changed_ him _for the better, had given him purpose and new friends._

_“For all you know, Sam could have gotten an ordinary car and crashed it the next week if we hadn’t intervened with his life.” Wincing at the thought, he held his bonded a little closer. “Or maybe he would have lived an average life, grown old with Mikaela, and died peacefully of old age. Whether this life is better than the one he could have had is not worth thinking about.”_

_Unless he died young because of them, or maybe came to resent them. All Sam could do was worry, but maybe First Aid was right. Besides, there were plenty of other problems to focus on, each regarding his companion._

_“Recharge, Bee. Sam is going to want to spend as much time with you as he can when he powers back on." Though he was reluctant to shut down, the prospect of losing time with his bonded was painful._

_Rather than transform into his alt mode, he reclined next to his bonded. If all it took to keep the bad dreams away was holding him, then he would hold him forever._

* * *

By the time Sam next woke up, he found Bee was still recharging, Optimus and Ironhide had disappeared, and First Aid was there.

At some point Bee had pulled him closer until the two were pressed together, and the hum of his spark was comforting. Something about it made him want to nuzzle closer, but he held back. 

Not wanting to wake him up, Sam held very still while he looked around.

The hangar was strangely empty save for the three of them, but was buzzing with sounds that each demanded his attention. The dim lights humming, the clanging of fans overhead keeping the room cool, it all made his sensors light up

Even though First Aid was busy talking through his comms and didn’t notice him sitting up, Bee certainly did.

“Sam! How do you feel?” How many times had Sam answered that question? God, too many times for sure.

“Good. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” _Should have moved more carefully,_ he thought at himself in a scalding tone.

“It’s fine, I had an alarm set to alert me when you got up.” Oh. Glancing over at First Aid, who’d noticed them and was talking more quietly to give them privacy, he felt a sudden wave of shyness. What was this feeling he had? He’d never been anything but confident around Bee.

"Well I hope you got plenty of… recharge?" It was the equivalent of sleep, right? Sort of?

"I did." He seemed to be staring at Sam more intently than usual, and he worried he had something on him. 

"What’s that look for? Am I making a dumb face?" His face felt pretty neutral, though. Unless neutral on a mech looked bad. 

"No. I'm just admiring you." Well now his face probably looked less normal as it heated up considerably. _Relax, it was just a compliment_.

"Do I look… how do I look? I mean, I know what I look like, sort of, but is it…" Did he look _good_ ? As a human he wasn't overly attractive, not like Trent or Mikaela, who was _so_ out of his league if not for the whole thrown-together-by-circumstance thing. Was Bee also considered way hotter than him? That wouldn’t be surprising.

Did Autobots even recognise beauty or aesthetic? 

"You've always been nice to look at,” Bee assured him before he could delve down that route in his thoughts. It didn’t quite answer his question, though. 

“Okay, Mikaela once said I was nice to look at too, in that exact tone. What is it with that, you can say average if I’m still as plain as I was before.” Optics blinking fearfully Bee looked to Aid for help, but the medic turned around, pretending not to be listening. Was he laughing?

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way. You were just as adorable as a human.” Bristling, Sam squinted at him in what he hoped was a threatening glare. 

“Adorable? You know what else is adorable? Baby bunnies.” Was it because his face plates were more rounded than them? He’d always had a round face, his mother talked about it constantly. “You know what… I’ll take it. So I’m not ugly or anything?” 

“No! You’re beautiful, Sam.” Even though he was mostly certain he’d only said that to placate him, it was still a relief. 

“It’s appealing, don’t worry. Plus, I think it suits you,” Aid supplied helpfully, snapping his head back to his radio when they both shot him accusing looks. 

“Wait, so you guys can find things cute too? Like that isn’t just a weird human brain thing when we see tiny animals?” That raised a few questions on what they considered to be cute, and why. 

“Definitely, in fact you kind of look like this mech I knew back on Cybertron. Worked in entertainment.” Autobots had entertainment? He wasn’t sure why but he pictured them all to be too busy for that.  
“What, like an actor? Singer?” Was there Cybertronian music? 

“Not that kind of entertainment,” First Aid corrected, optics regarding him humorously. For a few blissful seconds he was confused, and then his face burned hot.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying? Because it is too early to learn that you guys had strippers, and it is _way_ too early to hear that I look like one.” If looks could kill First Aid would be dead due to Bee’s seething optics. 

“You'll be relieved to hear that wasn't what I meant either. Would that have been disrespectful of me, if it was?” Somewhat ashamed, he glanced down at the floor.

“Not disrespectful. There’s nothing wrong with being that, I just meant… I mean, you can’t go around telling people they look like strippers because- nevermind, just forget it.” Sam went to take a step back, anxious to move _away_ from this conversation, but his heel struts took him by surprise, as they’d done every time he’d stood up so far, and tipped him right into Bee’s side. “Agh! Man, how am I ever going to walk on these?”

“You’ll get used to it, I’m sure,” First Aid assured him while Bee helped right him. When he took his next step they both looked like they were about to reach out and steady him, but the door banging open drew their attention away. Sam turned just in time to catch a rush of _worry, fury,_ and know exactly who it was before he saw the yellow and red paint.

Ratchet stopped in front of him, kneeling down to face him intimidatingly while a sheepish Jazz came in behind him, closing the door. He seemed to be all over the lately.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were experiencing nightmares? When did they start? Are they entirely memory based?” As opposed to? Bewildered at the line of questioning, Sam looked to Bee for help, but his friend was looking at him with the same concern now.

“Uh, I’m not sure how you knew about that, but I think they’re just normal nightmares. Don’t you guys have nightmares,” he asked, looking at Jazz first. Jazz, who had died as well, who could at least understand his fears. 

“No, we have memory sequences, which is why I must ask again. Are these dreams purely memory based?” He wasn’t going to be letting this go, clearly.

“You mean like are they about things that have happened? Some of them, yeah. Other times it's just things that are terrifying, or stuff I’m afraid of I guess. I-” he stopped, unable to bring up some of the terrible things he’d dreamt the night after Optimus died. He hadn’t slept much, after that.

“Are any of them unusual in comparison to your past dreams as a human?” Confused, he tried to remember more about the nightmare he’d had just a day ago, of red optics and pain and metal snapping through his body. Ratchet winced, and he knew the medic had seen it.

“I wouldn’t call it unusual really, just bad. Sometimes I dream about Megatron dropping me off that roof, but ever since… Ever since Scalpel tried cutting into my head they’ve been a bit more geared towards that sort of thing.” He wasn’t sure why they all looked so worried.

“But they’re dreams you had before two weeks ago,” Ratchet asked.   
“Some of them, yeah. Why is it such a big deal?” He didn’t answer, much to Sam’s annoyance. “How do you guys dream, then? If it's not how we dream.”

“Most of us relive memories. Certain mechs have probability software that allows them to see a series of predictions, but you definitely do not. It's possible you’re only reliving your past nightmares if they’re all the same as before your transformation.” And if _that_ one wasn’t the same, he thought to himself. Ratchet heard, clearly. “I’d rather you not worry about it. Unlike us, you house the last remnants of the Allspark. Perhaps your ability to dream is because of its unique energy inside you.” 

“Right… Maybe my brain doesn’t know it’s not supposed to work like that anymore,” he joked, because none of this made sense so that was equally plausible, right? Based on Ratchet’s unamused look, it was not.

“How do you feel today? No pain?” Other than his earlier mortification of being told he looked like First Aid’s _friend_ , Sam felt fine.

“No pain. Everything seems to be working fine. How about you? Feel better now that you’ve recharged?” Ignoring his teasing question, Ratchet eyed him and Bee for a second before scanning him, optics relaxing minutely.

“I have things to do today, Jazz is going to watch you again.” He didn’t need a babysitter. “Better safe than sorry, Sam. Leaving you on your own poses risks.” 

“I think I can handle a minute to myself, thanks.” He’d welcome it, in fact. Maybe he could sneak off while Jazz was distracted.

“I heard that,” Ratchet warned, and Sam cursed. 

“If you keep that up I’m going to make a tinfoil hat.” Not that it’d likely do anything, but still. Some things had to be private. 

“I’m uncertain what a tinfoil hat has to do with anything, but feel free to make one. Jazz.” Ratchet pulled the second in command away, talking with him quietly just out of range. Sam huffed, wishing he could at least be trusted in their conversations that were obviously about him- based on the way Jazz looked up at him halfway through.

“Sam,” Bee said, drawing his optics away from the two. “Later today I’d like to show you something. If you’re up still, that is.”  
“I will be!” He had no clue when _later_ was, or how much later it’d be, but he could keep himself up. Ratchet made a noise, likely in disagreement, and he sighed. “I’ll try, at least.”

“Until later, then,” he said, reaching down to touch Sam’s helm, servo hesitantly redrawing as he left. 

“Bye…” He watched him go, realizing only after he was out the door that he hadn’t asked what he was up to today. What did any of them do besides train and design cars? 

Turning back to Ratchet, who was regarding him with clear suspicion, Sam tried to stomp down that disappointment he felt at being apart from Bee. 

“I’m trusting you to not endanger yourself today.” Could he roll his optics? The urge to do so was strong, but he didn’t want to hurt himself.

“Gee, thanks.” At what point could he be _trusted_ not to endanger himself being on his own. It felt like they all thought he was some sort of flight risk. Which, granted, if he was given the chance he might try running for the hills. 

“Don’t make me drag you with me, I can still change my mind.” Frowning, Sam, glared up at the medic quietly, trying his hardest to simply _not think_.

“Come on, might as well show you around the rest of the actual base.” Jazz led him out of the hangar, his slow strides barely giving Sam enough time to run/stumble after him. 

He tried to put aside the anticipation he felt knowing he’d see Bee again later, but he wasn’t having much luck. Would it always be like that? Driven by instinct to seek him out? Maybe, just maybe, he could live with that.

“Where are we going,” Sam asked, recognising the Garage they passed by but not the street they took to get to it. NEST should consider putting up a few signs when they finish building the actual structures. 

“Right now? To meet Wheeljack. He’s been curious about you.” Oh right, the reclusive one they told him about who didn’t sleep in the hangar. Hadn’t Bee said he’d been here for a while but just hadn’t gotten out much? 

Jazz was unusually quiet for the remainder of their walk, leaving Sam to follow after him silently and look around in awe at the unfamiliar base. Were there maps available to newcomers? Then again, Sam hadn’t had a single second to himself since onlining, so why would he need a map when there was always someone leading him around?

“How big is this pace, exactly,” he asked, trying to remember how far Ratchet’s medibay was from the Hanger.

“NEST itself is still growing, but as of right now it takes up about a fourth of the island. I’m sure you’ll see more of it soon,” he said, a bit too knowingly for Sam’s liking. 

The building they finally stopped at looked odd, unpainted. There weren’t many entrances but there was a fire hydrant. Two fire hydrants, he realized. 

“A few things you should know about Wheeljack,” Jazz started, stopping him several feet from the door. “He’s brilliant. Make-the-rest-of-us-look-bad brilliant. He’s got a knack for inventing that has both helped and hindered the war.”

“Why is that?” A grimace crossed Jazz’s face.

“Because half of everything he invents has a way of blowing up in his face and it's always when you least expect it. We’ve rebuilt his workshop twice in the past six months.” Sam was a little weary of going in there, at that. He wasn’t inventing right now, right?

“Okay, is it dangerous in there?” Surely if it were Ratchet wouldn’t have allowed this, right? He hadn’t even wanted Sam to leave the medibay just one day ago. Was that one day ago?

“Extremely dangerous. Don’t touch anything, even if it looks harmless. I don’t think either of us wants to face Ratchet if you get hurt again so soon.” This was sounding more and more like a bad idea to Sam. What if he tripped and fell into something and they blew up? Would the Matrix be able to bring them back? Would it even work on him?

The workshop was quiet upon their entrance, thankfully, and the lights, which were set to motion sensors, turned on for them automatically. They revealed contraptions and heaps of materials Sam couldn’t identify if he tried to. Some looked very gun shaped, in his opinion. Did Wheeljack make weapons?

His optics were drawn quickly to a viciously red sports car sitting in the middle of the hard white floor, which was littered in burn marks and scrapes. Was the floor made of rock?

“As you can see, Wheeljack sometimes spends time in his alt mode for no reason at all. He designed it himself.” Once he managed to look past the strange floor and viscous red, he realized he’d never seen any car like this one. The thruster that sat on top of it alone wouldn’t be street legal, maybe not even racetrack legal. 

“There are many reasons I stay in my alt mode, Jazz,” an unfamiliar voice announced. The car began to transform, quickly revealing an almost scholarly looking bulky mech. “It helps me think, and I have to think quite often.” 

“Right, so you aren’t just showing off,” Jazz teased. The scientist approached them, peering down at Sam curiously.

“Your spark is shrouded by Allspark energy.” Though it was said in a purely curious manner, Sam felt uncomfortable and put on the spot. How was he even supposed to respond to that? Luckily, he didn’t have to. “That's probably a blessing and a curse. Makes you harder to pinpoint up close.” 

“Really? How is that helpful at all?” From what Aid told him about his transition into mech, it made finding him and Bee difficult back in Egypt.

“The Decepticons will have to find you before they can reprogram you,” Wheeljack explained helpfully, stopping Sam cold. 

“Reprogram?” Jazz shut his optics slowly, head turning towards his fellow Autobot tiredly. 

“Yeah, you know, erase your memory files, override everything Ratchet’s done to develop your software. Lots of ways to take apart a Newspark, especially one as small as you.” Flinching back, he felt a throbbing pain in his chassis that he realized was real, genuine fear. 

“Stop talking,” Jazz demanded, pleaded. “Please, stop talking right now.” 

“Should he not know all this? Knowledge is power, and if he is aware of the threats he faces he’ll fight harder when he inevitably is in danger.” Sam wanted to crawl back into the hangar and hide already, actually. 

“No Decepticons are going to be showing up here, and even if they did Sam would be protected. All your doing is causing him unnecessary stress, which Ratchet is going to blame _me_ for.” What was it with them and stress? He wasn’t going to keel over just cause someone said something that made his metaphorical skin crawl.

“Is that something Megatron did? Reprogramming Newsparks? Optimus told me he didn’t want them.” Jazz shot him a surprised look.

“He told you about that,” he asked, at the same time Wheeljack shook his head, helm tilted as though remembering distant memories.

“No, Megatron wasn’t interested in keeping them, but others were. Megatron preferred using their -”

“Wheeljack, that’s enough,” Jazz cut him off, optics dead serious and making Sam take a step back in surprise. At the small movement he blinked and the simple warning in his eyes was gone, replaced with his usual look. “We shouldn’t talk about those times in front of him. Better to make some new fun memories, right Sam?”

“What kind of a name is Sam, anyway? What are you, a scout?” Wheeljack, clearly having got the message loud and clear, was moving on in the conversation. He spun Sam around to get a complete look at him, clicking to himself. “Too small, but you’d be stealthy, wouldn’t you? Not fast, though.” 

“I’m still learning to walk, leave me alone,” he griped, earning a chuckle from the scientist.

“I mean in your alt mode, sparkling. Although,” he paused, leaning down to lift one of Sam’s pedes without warning. If not for Jazz catching him he’d have toppled over completely. 

“Hey! Maybe a little warning next time?” His complaint was ignored completely. 

“You’re walking wrong, that is why you have no balance.” Walking wron-

“How else am I supposed to walk,” he asked, incredulous. Wheeljack set his pede back down, standing up straight to grab his shoulder plates.

“Like a mech. You lift your pedes too high. You aren’t a human, anymore, you’ll only wear yourself down moving like that. Let your heel struts do some of the work.” Wheeljack started to walk backwards, dragging Sam with. The first few feet he stumbled pitifully, before taking his advice and lifting them just barely off the ground. Instantly he was falling backwards, his new momentum pulling his pedes in front of him.

“Oh. That is so much easier,” he announced sarcastically, but Wheeljack didn’t stop. 

“Keep trying, lift them a little higher than that, find the balance.” They continued on like that for a minute or two, Wheeljack setting the pace while Sam just tried to keep his legs under him. 

And then he found it. Right as Wheeljack let him go, and his right pede hit the floor, he found the balance. It wasn’t so much that he should be gliding, but rather he straightened his back strut and everything righted out.

Rather than tilting uncertainly to the side, his footsteps were more direct, casual. 

“I think,” he stopped, turning to see Jazz still waiting and watching with his arms crossed. “I think I’ve got it. How much speed do you think I could build up running?”

“Running? You probably wouldn’t have to.” Without warning servos appeared at his back and shoved him forward. The slick floors under him began to move.

No, it wasn’t the floor moving, it was him. 

“I can skate,” he shouted, shocked. Jazz stopped him before they could collide, steadying him as he rolled off the back of his heels.

“Badly,” Jazz joked, dropping his servo as Sam alternated between walking and sliding around the room. “Let's stick to walking for now, you look a little unsteady.”

“That's probably for the best,” he agreed, almost running into Wheeljack.. All at once he remembered the dangerous equipment around him. Definitely for the best “Thanks for helping me out with this.”

“Glad to be of help,” he said, stopping Sam and looking at him proudly. He had just a few seconds to enjoy the moment before Jazz was pulling him away.

“Right well, it’s my turn to oversee the training exercises, we should go. Thanks for letting us stop by, Jack.”

“It was my pleasure. Maybe you can work with me from time to time, Sam. If Ratchet allows it.” Something was telling him Ratchet would not be allowing it, but Ratchet didn’t have to _know_.

Sam wanted to hang out longer, truthfully. He liked Wheeljack. And no, not just because he reminded him of his dad. He was nice, fun but not in the brutal way that Ironhide was, and a lot more calm than Jazz.

Okay, so maybe he reminded Sam of his dad. 

“Hey, when do you think I’ll be able to see my parents?” It was something he’d avoided asking, for obvious reasons. Even though he was certain things would be weird, and awkward due to his extra two feet of height, he still missed them terribly, still wanted their approval and love. 

“When everything has calmed down we may start to allow more humans here. I’m not sure when or if civilians will be allowed, but I think Optimus would be open to the idea of letting family visit. There are non combatant Autobots here, why shouldn’t there be civilian humans as well? Eventually, perhaps.” Things seemed perfectly calm, in Sam’s opinion. Why not start now?

“When will that be?” In a month? Several? Could he find some way to call them before then?

“The world doesn’t know about us yet, Sam. It might be awhile.” They didn’t…

“But what about all those people in Egypt? And-” And then Sam felt stupid, because of course they kept a lid on that. If they’d managed to keep what happened in Mission City contained, they could handle Egypt. “My parents already know, though! What harm could letting them come here do?”

“It’s not that we don’t trust them, Sam, the base just isn’t ready for untrained humans, yet. They weren’t very comfortable when they were here last, because of that. This is still considered an active military base and is now our only sanctuary. I know you must miss them, but their distance is for the best. Yours and theirs.” His words hit deep, and Sam realized not once had he stopped to consider how his parents must be feeling. Maybe they deserved a break from all the crazy. Maybe they deserved a break from… him.

Suddenly wanting to curl in on himself, he decided to rest the matter for now. When his parents wanted to see him he’d find a way to make it happen. Somehow. 

“Right… Thanks, Jazz.” Sensing his sudden shift in mood, Jazz spared him a glance as they neared the training building. For such a usually cheerful guy, he seemed to be bringing Sam down lately. In fact, everyone had been. 

If only things weren’t so different. If Sam were still human and could still go buzz off whenever the Autobots got a little overbearing most of his problems would probably seem a little smaller. But he wasn’t human, anymore, and everything was different. Why then, did he feel so tiny?

His chassis felt tighter, for that thought, and he absentmindedly reached up to touch it. Maybe this feeling would fade in a few days.

* * *

Optimus had gone to the hangar to recharge, but Prowl and Arcee were there this time. No humans, oddly. While Jazz went to speak with Arcee, Prowl came over and sat on the ground next to him.

“Sam,” he acknowledged, staring ahead while Jazz ordered the Autobots alike around like he was made for it. Then again, he was second in command for a reason.

Bluestreak and Mirage were playing the Decepticons today, and the familiar flash of dark blue optics looking his way made Sam curl in on himself. Taking a cue from Prowl, he sat down and pretended not to notice the obvious glances.

Whatever Blue’s deal was, something about him set off warning bells. Not even just the joke they’d played on him, either. There was an intensity about him that he couldn’t understand. When he spoke it was all lighthearted fun, but was it really?

“He had a Newspark,” Prowl said quietly, not looking down at Sam at all.

“What? Who?” Trying to follow his gaze, he found him looking at none other than the very mech who’d been watching Sam. “Bluestreak? He was a Creator?”

Looking at the focused sharp shooter, he had a hard time picturing him as a parent, in any sense of the word. He seemed like someone who’d have very few real attachments.

“He was. Before the war he had a Newspark, many friends, a home. He lived in a fairly small city on Cybertronian far out from the government. From what I understand things were peaceful there at the start of the war. No one was picking sides, least of all Blue.” 

“So what, they were just going to opt out of the whole war? Doesn’t that seem a little unrealistic,” he pointed out, and based on Prowl’s amused nod he agreed. 

“They had hope, but you’re right. It wasn’t long before they were pulled in, and in just one day the Megatron led an attack and the Decepticons leveled the whole city to the ground. Blue was the only one who got out alive.” Yeesh. Not a nice thought, but from what he knew and had been learning about Megatron lately, he wasn’t surprised. It felt like Prowl was saying something more, without words, and he looked up at the tense bot curiously. Knowing Bluestreak was watching them still, it finally clicked. 

“He _had_ a Newspark. As in… he didn’t after that?” Oh no… 

“He swore allegiance to the Autobots the very next day. I think he probably still hasn’t recovered, after all this time. You wouldn’t know after just one conversation with him, or maybe a hundred. Behind all those words and walls, though, he is just another broken spark who lost everything because of this war.” Sam wasn’t really sure why Prowl was telling him all this. It seemed like the type of personal story you unlock once you reach a certain level of friendship with someone. As if reading his thoughts, he went on to say, “you’re afraid of him.”

“How could you possibly know that?” It was just Ratchet who could tell what he was thinking, right?

“You’re hiding from him right now,” Prowl pointed out, and Sam realized he’d slipped further and further behind the bigger Autobot, out of sight from the faux battle. He flushed hot, ducking his head. “I can also tell because of my programming. Ratchet will likely install that in you at some point, as he is in charge of teaching you now. My point is simply that Bluestreak knows you are afraid of him and that is why he is staring. I think he’d like to apologize.”

“For what?” It isn’t like he’d actually done anything, other than scare the living day out of Sam. Great first impressions.

“You’re the first Newspark he’s seen who has a chance at surviving. On Cybertron his efforts in the war were divided between combat and caring for many Newsparks who just… didn’t and couldn’t make it.” Everything he learned about Newsparks had to be depressing, didn’t it? Sam wasn’t sure he’d ever look at Blue and not think of dead mechs again.

“He doesn’t have to apologize to _me_. It isn’t his fault I’m afraid of him. I’m also afraid of cats, and they’re mostly harmless.” Prowl laughed, leaning back and crossing his arms as he watched Jazz help defend from the ‘Decepticon’ attack. Was it just him or were they not doing so well?

“Well, I think he also suspects his antics with Jazz were to blame. Blue doesn’t always think before he acts, and I think this is partly because if he thinks too hard he’ll remember things he’d rather not. Chattiest Bot I know, but sometimes he does very stupid stuff.” So maybe Bluestreak wasn’t so bad. It was worth considering, if he felt that bad about intimidating him. Peeking around Prowl, he watched Mirage disappear and reappear on the Autobot side, taking Arcee out before disappearing again. They weren’t using real weapons, just a tag system. 

Sam and Prowl sat in somewhat companionable silence for quite some time. Every now and then Sam would look up at him to see he was still in moderately good spirits, even while watching his fellow Autobots lose bitterly against Bluestreak and Mirage. At least they weren’t actually on the Decepticon’s side, and these drills were for everyone’s improvement.

“I didn’t think you’d remember,” Prowl stated, completely out of nowhere. Sam looked up from the ending practice battle, confused.

“Remember what?” Was there something he should be remembering, because he was drawing up blanks.

“Anything. When First Aid and Ratchet told us you’d onlined for a bit, but didn’t know who you were or what happened, I thought that was it, that you’d be like any Newspark, completely new to the world. I wasn’t alone in thinking that, but I’m happy to be wrong. We are all happy to be wrong.” With everything going on, Sam had almost been able to forget about that. Almost.

He looked down at his hands, servos, and closed his optics, in-venting sharply. So many questions remained about who and what he was now, and what he’d do with his life. Most of all, though, he just wondered if he was human enough to still be Sam Witwitcky.

“If I hadn’t offlined, do you think I would have remembered eventually? Like, if I’d stayed online the first time?” Would he be someone completely different? Would he even think back on who he might have been? Would he be more okay with how much his whole life was so upended? This would all be easier, if he didn’t close his eyes and see himself with soft green eyes and unkempt hair, human.

“I don’t know, Sam. I don’t think Bee would have let you forget.” The teasing nature of his tone made him smile slightly, thinking once more about how he’d see Bee later.

“You’re probably right.” Dropping his servos back to the ground, he pushed himself up. Prowl didn't follow him as he approached Mirage and Bluestreak, who were not so graciously accepting defeat from Jazz as he helped Arcee up. 

“You fought really well. Good job,” he offered, going for genuine in the hopes that he’d get the message of trust across. Shocked, Blue looked between him and Jazz, mouth opening to say something. 

“Why, thank you! I did very well out there, didn’t I? It’s only to be expected, with my incredible abilities,” Mirage bragged, completely cutting off whatever Blue had wanted to say. Sam turned on him, regarding him carefully before smiling.

“Uh, right! I bet you’ve fought a whole bunch of Decepticons. Next time they give us trouble I know who to hide behind,” he joked, taking joy in the way Mirage’s grin fell into a troubled frown. 

“Well, I don’t know about that. I mean, I’m not a front lines soldier, I do most of my work behind the scenes.” Jazz snorted, which was an odd sound coming from a mech. The old Sam from a year ago might have made fun of Mirage, called him a bit of a coward. Now, he thought about all the times he’d been thrown into the thick of it, about Egypt and Barricade and Mission City, and he wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

Mirage may be a coward, but he was a coward supporting the right cause, and what more could you ask of him? 

“That’s fine, he’ll be hiding behind me,” Bee announced, voice taking Sam by surprise. Pleasant surprise. Looking down from Mirage, he found him waiting his his arms crossed behind the mech, glaring up at him.

“Bee!” He was really starting to miss their time together a year ago, when it was always just the two of them, joined at the hip. Well, Sam’s hip anyway.

“I spoke with Ratchet. He’s agreed to let me take you somewhere, if you still feel up to it.” Ignoring Bluestreaks’ disbelieving snort, Sam nodded hurriedly.

“I am! Just let me grab my… oh. Yeah, I’m ready, let's go!” What had happened to his phone, he wondered. They didn't leave it in Egypt, right?

“Ratchet agreed to this,” Jazz asked, skeptically regarding Bee while Sam joined him, resisting the urge to reach out and hug him. Ironhide had said some people were unhappy with their bonding, he didn't want to give them more reason to be.

“I definitely wouldn’t if he were my Newspark, but who are we to question Ratchet,” Blue interjected, giving Sam a not so subtle wink. He was catching up to human culture fast. 

“Come on, I would like to show you something.” Bee brought him back outside, where he transformed into his alt mode and opened the back door. Sam peered in, uncertain.

“What? Is that a new air freshener?” Based on the insistent beep Bee made, he knew he couldn’t play dumb. “Will I even fit?”

“Yes.” Ex-venting slowly, he bent down and crawled into the seat, thankful that while he was nearly an extra two feet tall, he wasn’t that much wider. As it was, he fit in the middle of the seat nicely, so long as he kept his legs folded carefully. 

“Alright, why am I sitting in the back seat of your alt mode?” Rather than answer, Bee shut the door and took off. Sam grabbed the front seats to avoid being thrown back. “Woah, hey! What are you doing, Bee?”

“I mentioned there was something I wanted to show you. I’m taking us there, now.” Of course he was going to be cryptic. Sam watched out the window while NEST flew by, buildings and streets he didn’t recognize disappearing behind them. Before he knew it, they weren’t surrounded by buildings but by trees, and he straightened up, a feeling of dread spreading through him.

“Did Ratchet really say we could do this?” Silence. If he had any sense at all he’d demand they turn around, but instead he smiled. “Jailbreak, then? You realize you’re the one getting in trouble this time, right?”

“I know. I’ll take full responsibility.” Relaxing back into the seat, Sam closed his eyes and felt the low rumble of the engine shaking him. 

For just a moment, if he shoved everything else very far down and stomped out every creeping thought, he could pretend that they were in California and Bee was just driving him to see Mikaela or they were going up to the mountains. 

“I missed this.” Things had been so crazy, with being accepted to college, going for such a short time, losing Optimus, losing Mikaela, almost losing everyone and then getting them all back. All he wanted was to put everything the way it had been before Megatron returned. 

“You’re upset because you think things have changed between us,” Bee stated, and all Sam could do was look out the window and pretend that wasn’t exactly what he was worried about.

“Where are we going, anyway?” They were driving pretty far out, and quickly. By now Ratchet was likely aware Sam was not at the base, but that was a problem for later.

“Volt Peer,” Bee announced, gleefully and with more excitement than Sam could muster.

“Oh god, did Jazz name it? He did, didn’t he?” Bee’s radio played a short burst of static that seemed incomprehensible. After a few seconds of staring at it with concern and confusion, he realized it was a laugh. He’d made Bee laugh. Something like pride and shame filled Sam’s chest.

He should have been focusing on being a better friend. Bee had been trying to cheer him up ever since he got out of the medbay, and he hadn’t once tried to return the favor. He wanted to make Bee laugh again, wanted to show him that he still _could_ make him laugh.

Unfortunately, the moment passed while he was stuck in his own thoughts. They stopped seemingly in the middle of nowhere, the trees spread out thinly. Bee let him out before transforming out of his alt mode, stepping right up to him.

“Eyes closed,” he demanded excitedly, reaching down to touch his back, carefully, softly.

“You can’t be serious.” Apparently he was very serious. Pleading optics begged him to comply without a fight, and he relented. “Alright fine. Just don’t let me trip or fall on my face.”

“You’ll be perfectly safe with me.” Taking his word for it, Sam shut his optics and walked very carefully. Despite Bee’s insistence that he was doing fine, it felt like he stumbled over every bump. The feeling of the road giving way to dirt made him wobbly, but he kept going. If Bee was leading him into a field he was going to be very confused though.

After walking for quite some time the dirt began to shift to something softer, grainier. Sand. When they finally stopped walking he could hear the ocean waves crashing against the shore. How close were they to it, he wondered.

“Open your eyes.” Sam did so slowly, uncertain. The view almost knocked him back in its entirety. While they’d been walking the sun had been slowly setting, and now rested just above a horizon of orange and purple clouds. The ocean below reflected the sun beautifully, brightly. He’d stepped into a painting without even realizing it, and the sea was alive with color, each ripple distorting it into a morphed approximation of the image above. 

It was exactly the view he’d spend a lifetime searching for if he were a painter. Unfortunately, all he could do to capture the moment was stare in awe.

All at once Sam knew why they called it Volt Peer. Even if he spent a thousand years trying to find some other words, the only way to describe this place was electric. The air was cold and sharp, wind dragging the sand over his pedes and splattering tiny specks of water on his face plates.

They were stopped before a gathering of a few rocks on the stretch of shore, the water rushing up the sides of it and receding back with each wave. Beside him, Bee was watching him carefully.

"This is... This is beautiful, Bee." And it was. Sam invented slowly, surprised that he could smell the ocean. Salt, water, the kelp gathered along the shore. In fact, he could smell all of it much better than he ever could as a human.

“You’ve been thrown into this new and confusing world, reborn as something alien, foreign to everything you ever knew. Your whole life is changing at a pace you can’t control, even if you want to. I wanted you to come here to see that not everything has to be different.” Pulling him up onto the rocks to sit, Bee took his hand- which looked much smaller in comparison to his own- and looked out at the sunset.

"Every day it changes, but it is the same sun that causes it, the same sky that holds it. Back in Santa Monica, when you used to sit on my hood and watch the sun rise and fall, I didn’t exactly understand the attraction. Not until seeing it from here. It reminds me… of you, I think.”

“Oh, thats- wow. That's a lot, Bee, I mean just- _who taught you how to flirt like that_?” That's what this was, right? Bee was flirting with him? Feeling decidedly choked up, he looked out at the sunset. Sam was not at all like the beautiful atmosphere in front of him. He wasn’t like the swirling of colors or the buzz of energy. Realizing his disbelief, Bee tried again.

“I don’t mean that it looks like you. Just that you, too, are magnificent and ever changing. You make me want to watch the sun go down, even though doing so had no purpose before.” Were his face plates heating up again? Leaning in, Sam found himself ignoring the sunset in favor of Bee’s optics, which reflected the last bit of orange sunlight as it dipped behind the clouds and horizon. Gone too soon, but he’d never forget this moment.

“You’re serious? You really think that about me?” Had he thought about Mikaela that way? She was great, definitely, but he’d never once looked at the sun and thought of her. Usually when he spent those late nights with Bee, he’d been thinking of… Bee. 

And then it made sense. The rock gave way slightly under him as he jerked back, surprised at his own realization. Bee grabbed a hold of him before he could go slipping into the shallow waves of the ocean.

“Sam,” he said, in-venting sharply. Pulling him into his lap, Bee held him more securely, ex-venting deeply in what sounded suspiciously like a concerned sigh. 

“I’m okay,” he assured him quickly, steadying his own breathing. “I just hadn’t given my own feelings much thought in a while, and now that I am it's just all so- I mean, I love you. _I can say that,_ I know it. M-”

“I love you, too,” Bee interrupted, servo running up his back and a shock shooting through him.

“Easy,” he warned with no real heat, laughing. “I was trying to say… I love you, and I think I have for a while now. Maybe that’s the real reason it didn’t work with Mikaela, and why we bonded or whatever the second I saw you. And now I'm starting to think I love you in ways that aren't even _possible_.” 

“I promise, it's possible. Do you think... do you think you loved me as a human,” he asked curiously, stroking Sam’s arm with a single digit.

“Of course. You’ve meant the world to me since Mission City.” The saying was common enough, but maybe not to Bee. It left him pleasantly surprised.

“And you, to me.” Bee pulled him firmly to his chest, the low hum within calming him more than the ocean waves could. 

“Then… good. That’s good.” If he were human still, he’d kiss him. Did Autobots kiss? Was Bee interested in that? 

“What are you thinking about,” he asked, reading Sam’s face easily. He flushed hot in embarrassment.

“This is probably the part where we kiss,” he blabbed, snapping his mouth shut. Surprised, Bee looked him over as though considering. Was he thinking about all the times Sam had made out with Mikaela in front of him? “I just mean, love confessions, beautiful sunset, hot yellow mech holding me in his strong arms. If this were a movie, we’d definitely kiss right now.”

Unless… Unless Bee hadn’t meant it like that. What if bonded mechs didn’t do that? 

“Hot mech with strong arms,” he teased, and Sam wished the ocean would swallow him. Before he could pull away, though, Bee surprised him. “Would you… like to?”

“I think so. Can we?” It was a double sided question and Bee knew it. Leaning down, he pressed their helms together.

“Nothing would bring me greater joy,” he whispered, and closed the distance between them. It felt odd at first, but then a bright tingly feeling hit him and he pressed closer to Bee. He pulled away and pressed his dermas to Sam’s shoulder, and he was surprised to find that tickled. Tilting his helm back up, he brought Bee back in for a second kiss, and this time didn’t hold back.

It felt _very_ nice to kiss as an Autobot, which was such a nice surprise. Bee’s servo kept running up his back, too, which made him melt in Bee’s arm. Or, as much as a mech _could_ melt. It was fuzzy and tingly at the same time, and made his spark buzz in what could only be happiness. 

When they finally pulled away from each other it was only because Sam was growing tired. Much faster than normal. 

Bee pulled away once sensing his dazed movements.

“Sorry, I just… I’m sorry. Hopefully I’ll be able to stay up for at least half a day, soon.” What he wouldn’t give for a Autobot energy drink right now. Would energon do that? He’d been up much longer after drinking that sludge.

“It’s alright, Sam. I am happy just to be here with you.” Although there was no more kissing, they still sat there for the remainder of the sunset. Sam stayed wrapped tightly in Bee’s arms as they enjoyed the romantic air. 

At some point clouds rolled in and threatened rain, so Bee reluctantly carried him off the rocks and sat him in the sand, running a digit down his helm affectionately. 

“I love you,” he said again, as if to reaffirm it, test it. 

“I love you, too, Bee.” Maybe everything would be okay, he thought to himself. Maybe life as a mech wouldn’t be bad at all. 

It was only then, after the fist crack of thunder, that he heard the unmistakable sound of an engine nearing. 

“Ratchet,” he whispered, shutting his optics and falling against Bee. “Why does it feel like we’re about to be lectured.”

“Lectured? Maybe for you, I’ll be lucky to get away alive.” Though he said it lightly, Bee was tense. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here with you.” He couldn’t reach Bee to kiss him, but he was fairly certain he got the message through his look, loving and supportive. 

The sound of Ratchet transforming and stomping their way behind him still made him want to cower, though.


End file.
